


Bolt Out of the Blue

by RaceUlfson



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Angst and Humor, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:46:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 113,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaceUlfson/pseuds/RaceUlfson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seifer grows up and gets a life. All that's missing is Squall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

Bolt Out of the Blue  
Chapter One

 

((disclaimer type stuff: this is an original fic using a few characters that are not mine. This is done not for profit but because I love the characters.))

 

Once upon a time, as my daughters’ books tend to start, there was a man who wanted to be a   
Knight, and a beautiful Sorceress who needed help. The Knight found out later what she actually needed help doing was destroying the world. 

Which goes to show that even as a kid I made spectacularly crappy choices in women.

So most of us survived the war and I figured out that the whole Knight and Sorceress thing was going to get people I was fond of killed. Namely, me. I changed careers and gave being normal a shot. I put away the gunblade, avoided SeeDs, and tried not to lob Firas at assholes who cut me off in traffic. I also swore off exotic older women.

That lasted until I met Solange. Solange was a dancer, not the cheap kind with a pole but the dedicated kind with the toe shoes. She was beautiful, flexible, free spirited, and horny. I was 20 years old and captivated. We spent all our time together in bed. Eventually, one or both of us slipped up and Solange got pregnant. I immediately proposed. She reluctantly accepted. That should have set off warning bells, but I was too far into the whole romantic fantasy to hear them. 

Look at it from my point of view: this incredible woman was going to be mine exclusively and give me children. Constant sex, the foundation of our relationship, was a given. I was looking forward to the whole happy ever after thing.

Now that I’m older and it’s over, I can also look at it from Solange’s point of view. She was a career orientated professional ballerina whose life plan didn’t include taking a year off to give birth. She was adventurous enough to give it a try, but as soon as she realized the inconvenience of the whole deal, Solange wanted out. She didn’t want a baby. She didn’t actually want me, except on her terms. 

What started out as my rose colored vision of the three of us living in domestic bliss quickly changed to months of me pleading with Solange not to terminate the pregnancy. She waffled until it was too late, and then bitterly blamed me for every discomfort, stretch mark, and ounce gained. By the time Morgan was born, we hated each other. 

There are some advantages to breeding with a completely self-absorbed, utterly vain, beautiful, athletic bitch. Solange took excellent care of herself, exercised religiously, ate only the highest quality, freshest food, avoided all drugs, alcohol, and other toxins. I think she was in labor about 15 minutes. Morgan came into the world as perfect as any little girl can be, the most beautiful, wonderful tiny little bundle of trouble Hyne ever blessed. Solange took one look at her, muttered “Disgusting!” and handed our daughter over to me.

The other advantage of Solange’s utter lack of interest in anything not directly related to improving Solange’s status within the dance troop was that the divorce was quick, easy, and I got full custody of Morgan. I bought a little house in a small town with a good school, and settled down to raise my daughter alone. 

Oh, Solange tried once in a while, when she remembered she was a mother. She sent tickets when her company was touring close by. I took Morgan, even though keeping a toddler quiet and entertained during a 3 hour ballet isn’t a task for the easily daunted. Afterwards we went around to the dressing rooms so Morgan could meet her mother. Solange, relieved to find that Morgan was not still toothless, red faced, and wrinkled, sank down to the ground in a rustle of white spangled... spangly stuff and held out her arms to our beautiful daughter. “What did you think of the ballet, my child?”

With the typical bluntness of a small child, Morgan sang out “Borrrrrr-ing!”

Morgan was bright and active and there came a time where I couldn’t really have her in a playpen in my office anymore. I looked into day care and preschools and found a place with a good reputation. 

One of the volunteers was Jamie. She was one of those fresh scrubbed country girls who made her own yogurt and crocheted baby blankets for the homeless shelter. Jamie was an organized woman who came over for dinner and stayed to alphabetize my canned goods and wall paper the laundry room. Our house filled up with little hand thrown clay pots, colorful quilts, jars of homemade jam. Once Jamie had the house made over the way she liked it, she moved in. 

Morgan never really took to Jamie. I thought she just needed more time. Jamie suggested Morgan, who was not quite three, felt I was replacing her in my affections with another woman. Jamie encouraged us to spend father daughter time together. That way she could keep redecorating without us underfoot. 

Jamie and I got married in the autumn before my 24th birthday. She made all the decorations herself, including the invitations and Morgan’s flower girl dress. We had a brief honeymoon and settled down to domestic bliss. 

My life became something out of a woman’s magazine. Morgan was always perfectly groomed, beautifully dressed. Her room had artistically arranged collections of handmade spool dolls and antique fairy books - none of which she was allowed to touch. Days off were filled with slaving in the vegetable garden for Jamie’s organic dinners, building things like a kiln and dehydrator for Jamie’s projects, and doing approved family type outings like picking blue berries or attending a craft show. It only got worse when Jamie got pregnant. 

Unlike Solange, Jamie loved being pregnant. She moved into maternity clothes when she was only three months along. She didn’t need to, she just loved the attention an expecting mother gets. We went to classes on natural childbirth, making organic baby food, and child proofing the home. My home office was sent back to my real office and the space became a shrine to The New Baby. Jamie wanted a boy so much she did the room in blue and puppies before she had the ultrasound. I was happy either way but figured a boy would be best, since I already had the most perfect little girl in the world. 

Samuel turned out to be Samantha and in a hormonal fit, Jamie insisted we redo the entirely completed nursery in pink butterflies. I pointed out that blue was a nice color and puppies were pretty unisex, and was sharply informed that Samantha was not going to be a little tom boy like Morgan. The warning bells jangled and again, I ignored them.

Samantha arrived early and needing emergency corrective surgery. Jamie was devastated. I didn’t realize until then how deep Jamie’s need for the perfect Lady’s Magazine family was. She wouldn’t even touch Samantha at first. Jamie blamed me and my orphan genetics and I couldn’t exactly deny it - for all I know, my parents were brother and sister and Morgan was just a happy fluke. Jamie informed me in no uncertain terms that we would not be having any more children, so I got the snip. I figured, the odds were not good of me getting another winner on the third go around, anyway.

By the time Sam was ready to come home from the hospital, Jamie had reconciled herself to being the mother of a special needs child. Not that Sam was particularly special needs. I got Hyperion out of mothballs and went hunting behemoths for Regen. Amazing what a few spells can do for a tiny baby who is essentially still forming. So Sam wasn’t actually damaged, but she wasn’t perfect in Jamie’s eyes. Only in Morgan’s and mine.

Morgan really took to the idea of being a big sister, which was reinforced by the matching outfits Jamie made for the three of them. I spoiled the effect by referring to them as “Thing One, Thing Two, and The Crazy Cat” but was eventually forgiven. 

Solange called one time, asking how old “The Child” was. 

“Ours or my younger girl?”

“Ours, of course.” Of course. There was no way in hell Solange would have any interest in any child that was not associated with her. 

“Morgan is coming up on six. She’s in kindergarten now.” I still sort of flinched over the ‘garden’ portion of that term. 

“Oh, no, we are almost too late!”

“Too late for what?”

“To get her in school, naturally. Madame Floris has an opening, thank Hyne. She is the best. She taught me.”

Confused, I said, “Morgan is in school, Solange, that’s what kindergarten is.”

Jamie, passing by with an armload of laundry, paused to eavesdrop. I shrugged at her. 

“Dance school, Idiot. You will have to move to Deling, of course. I cannot be responsible for the comings and goings of the child.”

“Hyne on the half shell. Morgan isn’t the slightest bit interested in dance. We can’t even get her to watch you on video. Besides, isn’t all that en pointe stuff bad for her feet?” Not to mention the fact that I was not going to close my business and move a couple hundred miles away and start over. 

Jamie leaned against the wall and gave me the look known to husbands everywhere. The ‘You are talking to another woman and I am not part of the conversation and there will be hell to pay later’ look. I mouthed ‘Morgan’s mother’ at her but she already knew who Solange was. 

“I am disappointed, Seifer. Very disappointed.”

“Yeah, I imagine you are. Look, Solange, the wife only allows me to talk to beautiful women so long before she goes ballistic.”

Even a minor compliment always distracted her. “You are so bad. Why did we ever part, my wicked lover?”

“Because we kind of hate each other?”

Solange made the phhft noise. “As if that matters in bed.”

After she hung up, Jamie said, “Beautiful women?”

“Kind of hate each other,” I reminded her. 

It took some schmoozing but I managed to stay off the couch. 

 

Jamie was a great, if obsessive, mother and things smoothed out and went well until Sam was toddling. The house was about as decorated as it could stand, the larder was full of home canned goodies, and Jamie was bored. I suggested she go back to school; maybe get a degree in something she enjoyed like decorating, culinary arts, clothing design, early childhood education... She snapped it up and went for it. 

Jamie started with night classes. I’d come home from work, hand her the car keys, get dinner out of the oven and feed the girls. We’d clean up, play some, and all be in bed by the time Jamie crawled in beside me. In a way it was a relief not to have to constantly perform to Jamie’s high standards. I know the girls had more fun. The warning bells were jingling away. 

By the time I caught Jamie in bed with one of her instructors, I’d already figured out the girls and I could survive without her. She moved out to go fill his house with country kitsch and I filed for divorce. I got the kids and her student loans and Jamie got a new life and several truckloads of handmade crap. Morgan gleefully donated all the antique toys she was never allowed to play with. Sam moved into her big sister’s room for security and comfort. I got my office back and swore off women forever.

 

***

 

“Daddy!” Morgan waved wildly and ran to the truck. She looked a lot like me in coloring - blond and green eyed, with her mother’s careless grace and delicate bone structure. She insisted on wearing the boy’s uniform of navy slacks white polo shirt, but consented to having her hair in pigtails. She clambered up into the truck like a monkey and crawled over her sister’s car seat to give me a quick peck on the cheek. 

“Hey, Boss. How was school?”

“It was school.” She rolled her eyes and struggled with the seat belt. I reached over to help and got a warning glare. I held up my hands in surrender and Morgan finally got the stubborn thing to click. “Where’s Sam?”

“I traded her to gypsies. For a puppy.”

“Daaaaad.”

“I thought you wanted a puppy. All little kids like dogs, right?”

“I’m not a little kid and I like cats.” Oh yeah, Morgan was 7 years old and very grown up. We had stuff in the freezer older that this kid. “Anyway, if you traded Sam to gypsies they would want the car seat, too. Does Momma Jamie have her?”

“Yeah, she wanted to have some sort of mother daughter talk with Sam about Hyne knows what.”

“Probably the importance of saving the jam jars or matching your socks to your blouse.” Morgan said darkly. Kid always was quicker on the uptake than I was. 

“So tell me something you learned today.”

Morgan thought for a moment. “Mr. Leon is light in his loafers. ...What does that mean?”

I kept the truck on the road with difficulty. Why don’t kids come with some sort of instruction book? Not the kind that tells you what to feed them and when to call the pediatrician but the kind that tells you how to explain alternate lifestyles to a seven year old while negotiating rush hour traffic. I fell back on the standard parental stalling technique. 

“Where did you hear that? It’s not a nice thing to say, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know that. I don’t even know what it means, that’s why I asked.”

“But where did you hear it?”

“Some of the teachers were talking in the break room. I was room monitor so I got to get the math exercise printouts from the office and I overheard them. Miss Bloom wanted to take Mr. Leon home and tie him to her bed but Mr. King said he was light in his loafers.”

And maybe I’d have a little talk to the Principal about teachers fantasizing where kids could hear them. “Which one is Bloom? Or Leon? Or the other one?”

Patiently, Morgan said, “Miss Bloom is the nurse. Mr. King teaches 4th grade and wears too much cologne. Mr. Leon is the one I had for self-defense last summer, now he’s a substitute for Mrs. Nash since she started crying in class that day and had to go home.”

“That wasn’t our fault, was it?”

“No, Miss Bloom said she was under a lot of stress and needed rest. She also told Mr. Leon that Mr. Nash was dating a stripper. Isn’t a stripper a thing, not a person?”

“What? I guess some people might think - Oh, you mean the paint stripper like we have in the garage? The kind of stripper a man cheats on his wife with is a dancer. “

“Like my mom.”

“A stripper is to your mom like leftovers are to a full fancy Yule dinner. But yeah. So we learned to never tell Miss Bloom a secret. What did Mr. Leon have to say when she tattled to him?”

Morgan shrugged. “Whatever.”

I laughed. That brought back some bittersweet memories. “Ok, first, light in the loafers is a not nice way to say a man would rather date another man than a woman. Like your mother’s dancing partner, Arien, remember him?”

“Yes, is he light in his loafers, too?”

“Well, Arien is a dancer, so he’s very light footed and graceful, and that’s probably where the expression came from, since a lot of people think all male dancers only want to date other men. Which isn’t true, you can’t lump people together like that.”

“Is it a bad thing, to date men? If you are a man, I mean?”

“It’s not that it’s a bad thing, Boss, but that it really isn’t anyone’s business. It’s like discussing someone’s poops. You just don’t, it’s rude.”

“But it’s not rude to talk about it if they are dating a stripper?”

“Look!” I said brightly. “Clown burgers, let’s have take out for dinner!”

 

 

Jamie’s new husband, the Professor, didn’t even have the balls to walk Sam up to the door. He just pulled into our driveway and honked once. By the time I handed the controls to Morgan (with the instructions that if she ran my chocobo off the cliff I was going to sell her to gypsies) and got to the porch he was driving away. I think he’s scared of me or something. Can’t imagine why. 

“Hey Lady Bug, did you have a good dinner?”

Sam shrugged expressively. “There were a lot of vegetables and the bread was hard to eat. We had cheesecake for dessert, that was ok.” My little one had curly red hair, possibly from my side of the family, and Jamie’s big brown eyes. She wore little round corrective lens and for some reason, Morgan decided that made Sam look like a cartoon lady bug. 

I guided her inside before Morgan killed my chocobo and declared herself the winner by default. “What did your mom want to talk to you about?”

“Can I get contacts?”

Fuck Jamie and her hynebedamned perfect family ideal. “You won’t need them. By the time you are old enough to stick your finger in your eye, your vision will be fine. Doesn’t Dr. Fisk say every time you go see her you are better than before?” That reminded me, I was getting low on Regens. Have to schedule a camping trip in the near future. 

“I guess so.” 

Morgan looked up and caught my eye. She set the controllers down and slid off the couch. “C’mon, Lady Bug, if we do the bath and jammies thing fast enough, Daddy will make us cocoa.”

“I want peppermint in mine!” They raced down the hallway - Morgan let Sam win- and I obediently went to make cocoa. With peppermint.

The girls didn’t come back, so I arranged a tray and carried it down to their bedroom. Cocoa in bed was a treat, even though they would both have to get back up and brush their teeth again. There’s a ton of sugar in that crap. 

Morgan was brushing Sam’s hair, which meant Sam was upset. In her defense, Sam had things to be upset about, but on the other hand, she was a drama queen and Morgan spoiled her. At least they got along. My few memories of childhood involved a lot of fighting, but maybe it was different for girls. 

“I have brought peppermint cocoa as commanded, ladies.”

“Momma Jamie is having another baby,” Morgan said. She was great at dropping bombs like that out of nowhere. 

I should have known that when Jamie said ‘we would not be having more children’ that did not mean she would not be having more children. 

I set the tray down. “Is that what she wanted to talk to you about, Sam?”

“Why does she want another baby? She hardly even looks at me.”

What could I say? The truth wasn’t going to help, that Jamie had issues and this new baby was probably going to be abandoned as well, only Sam at least had Morgan and me whereas the poor new little bastard only had Professor Prick to fall back on. “I think she really likes changing diapers, Lady Bug. Anyway, maybe it’s Professor Perfect who wants the baby.”

“It’s because I wear glasses, isn’t it? That’s why she doesn’t like me anymore.”

“That’s not it at all, Lady Bug. First, parents love their babies, forever.” 

“Solange doesn’t,” Morgan pointed out. She never called her mother by any endearment or nickname. Solange would have been shocked if she had. Momma Jamie was a compromise since Morgan felt no need to fan Jamie’s maternal urges, either. That was probably my fault. 

“Solange does, she just shows it funny because... because she’s Solange. And Jamie wouldn’t care if you had two heads and a fish tail,” I lied. “She just wants to build a new family with her new husband. Remember I love Morgan to bits and I still wanted you.” I handed out the mugs of cocoa, glad I’d put the candy canes in for stir sticks as an extra treat. “Look at it this way, Sammy, here you are the youngest but at your mom’s you are the oldest. Not many folk get to have it both ways.”

“Am I going to stay the youngest, Daddy? What if you get married again?”

“No fear of that, I’m not going to father any more kids. Anyway, I’ve sworn off women forever.”

Morgan sipped her cocoa and gave me a speculative look. It would come back to haunt me, later.

 

Life went on. We went camping and I managed to get a couple Regens. I was afraid I’d have to kill the behemoth but it was sufficiently young to be repulsed by the Encounter None I set at camp. The girls never questioned the gunblade or the monster hunting or the occasional spell; I guess it was just something Dad did. 

Mrs. Nash recovered and returned to work. I forgot all about the light in the loafers Mr. Leon until Morgan bounded to the truck one Tuesday afternoon. Sam was busy giving me a lecture on not storing my plans and stuff in her car seat.

“It’s mine, Daddy. Would you like it if I kept my dolls in your easy chair?”

“Lady Bug, I’d be so thrilled you picked them up I wouldn’t care where you put them.”

“I put them where they are, they get lonely-”

“Daddy! I can play rugby! Say yes! Can I play rugby? It’s fun!”

“Wait, what? Lady Bug, all over the house is not an acceptable location for your dolls. They are massing an army and going to take over and make us eat plastic food and live in an all pink world soon.” 

Sam rolled her eyes. 

Morgan hauled herself into the cab and wiggled past Sam to sit in the middle. She elbowed me sharply. “Rugby, Daddy. Mr. Leon is coaching and there’s a meeting and I want to sign up, say yes.” She thrust some papers at me. 

“What’s rugby? I want to play!” 

“It’s like soccer only you get to tackle people.” Morgan’s eyes glittered. 

In tones of horror, Sam asked, “Don’t you get dirty?” 

“Boss, isn’t rugby kind of violent?” I got a well-deserved look for that, but I had to try. “Let me read this over and think about it, ok? There are factors, like money, insurance, and scheduling I have to take into consideration.”

“You get a shirt, ours is blue and green. We’ll be the Rascals. There are shin guards and cleats.” Morgan said in the same reverent tone Sam would use for ‘fairy princess gown and tiara’. 

“Hyne on the halfshell. Give me time to read all this and we’ll talk after dinner.”

Morgan grinned. She already knew she’d won. 

 

 

I couldn’t make the meeting, but the paperwork explained it all. Practice was two days a week, immediately after school, and Saturday mornings unless there was a game. I spent Morgan’s college fund on shoes with cleats, shin guards, head guard, and uniform. Then I spent Sam’s college fund on some sort of Pink Fashion Doll Mermaid Underwater Palace thing. Kids keep this weird sort of tally going of who got what and Hyne help you if one of them feels shorted. 

Sam insisted we wear blue and green to Morgan’s first game to show support. I went with jeans and green shirt; she crafted an ensemble out of damn near every blue or green item she owned. My baby, the bag lady. Ok, that was unfair, she actually looked pretty cute. We settled on the bleachers with the other parents and siblings while down on the field a man with too long dark hair tried to calm down what looked like a million insane little girls. 

The Rascals were playing the Tornadoes, who were in pink and grey. I wasn’t too up on the rules, so Sam and I just took turns yelling encouragements. As far as I could tell, the game consisted of running like a nut, falling down, and occasionally kicking the shit out of each other. There was a ball, too. Someone’s mother wrestled large cards with numbers on them into a frame to show the score. The Rascal’s number was higher at the end, so Sam and I assumed they won. We joined the other family members hooting and waving our arms.

The girls and several parents mobbed their coach, but Morgan broke away early to run to us. She had mud from her ankles to her chin, grass in her hair, and had skinned her elbow. She was grinning from ear to year. 

“Hey Champ, congratulations! Good job!” 

“Did you see? I got a conversion!”

“I did,” I lied, having no idea what that was. “You were awesome, wasn’t she, Sammy?”

Moragn turned to her little sister, who had been shouting herself hoarse moments ago in support of the team. Now Sam was giving her sibling a serious once over. “You aren’t going to ride in the *cab*, are you?”

 

 

One of the things you learn to do as a parent is plan. You plan your kid’s future, you plan your free time and the kid’s activities and you always make sure you have a backup plan because the first one never works right. Especially if kids are involved. So, although I like to pick my girls up in the afternoon from Preschool and School-school, if I can’t make it, I have an alternate plan. 

Today I was not going to make it. I was stuck midway up a hynebedamned mountain in a monsoon and the road washed out. Granted, that’s why I was on the mountain - I’m a civil engineer and my construction firm was asked to see what we could do to prevent exactly what happened. Nothing like the government waiting until the last possible second to call in some help. The only way down was to turn around and go all the way to the top and creep down the other side, which turned an hour trip into a six hour experiment in terror. And no guarantee the road wouldn’t wash out on this side as well. 

Backup plan one is to have my secretary pick up the girls and take them to my office. That was a no go since she was sitting next to me in the truck. Backup plan two was to call Jamie and grovel. This would lead to snide comments about my parenting skills, but it was a small price to pay. 

Except Jamie was not answering her damn phone. I left several increasingly irate messages, and then had Lani, my secretary try her on the off chance Jamie was just pissed at me. No go. 

I called Morgan and Sam’s babysitter, but she had the flu and was barely coherent. Solange, of course, was nowhere around and would forget to pick the girls up even if she was in town. Even my lawyer, who in theory should be available 24/7 in case I got arrested or something, was off in Trabia on vacation. Fuu and Rai would do anything for the girls, but it would take three hours easy for them load up their own kids and drive down to our dinky little town. Longer if they had to deal with roads like I was.  
Sam’s Preschool would keep her until they closed at 6, but then what? Meanwhile, Morgan would be done with rugby practice and have nowhere to go. 

“Maybe one of the rugby mom’s will look after them until you get there. Or one of Morgan’s friend’s parents? Someone who can get Sammy, too?” Lani, at least, only had an incontinent mop dog to worry about. 

“Some of those team moms are batshit insane. But yeah, at least they don’t come across as kidnappers and perverts.” I hated trusting my babies to strangers but it was looking like my other choice was child protective services. I called Morgan.

“Daddy, you are late!”

“I know, Boss, I’m sorry. Are you ok? How was practice?”

“It was cancelled on account of rain.”

Hyne, of course it was, where was my brain? “Where are you now? What did you do?”

“We played basketball in the gym until everyone’s ride came. We played in our socks, it was fun. Sliding makes dribbling easier.” 

And taking off your cleats saved the hardwood floors, too. “Who’s still there with you?”

“Just Mr. Leon, he stayed because your number said ‘Not Available’.”

“It’s the mountain, it jacks with the reception. Morgan, let me talk to Mr. Leon, ok?” She liked him and he was dedicated enough to stay with her. And teachers had background checks, so hopefully he wouldn’t be a huge prick. 

“Hello?” a smooth cool voice said, and my brain stuttered. “Seifer?”

Mr. Leon my ass. It was Squall Leonhart.


	2. Two

Bolt Out of the Blue  
Chapter Two

 

They told us we won the war and I had to accept that. We all went back to Garden, having no other real plans. There was a party, Cid and Matron showed up; it was a big happy reunion. Except one of us was missing. 

“Seifer will turn up,” Matron soothed. 

“Where else does he have to go?” Quistis pointed out.

Seifer must have had somewhere else to go because he never did turn up. 

We settled in for our Happy Ever After, with the bright and shiny future laid out before us. It turns out that I am good at making military decisions like “Summon or rush them?” “Dodge or suck it?” and “Who stays behind this time?” I am less good at decisions like “What am I going to do with the rest of my life now that I don’t have to kill sorceresses anymore?” and “If Rinoa and I get together should she live at Garden or should I move to Deling?” I reasoned the rest of my life should take some time, so I didn’t have to make those decisions right away. 

In the case of the Rinoa, I didn’t have to make it at all. Rinoa admitted she’d rather kiss Zone than me. We parted very good friends. I didn’t tell her I was more interested in kissing Zone, too. Or Irvine. Or Zell. 

In a school full of little kids, there never seemed to be a good time to explore those options. While I was waiting to make my decisions, Irvine moved back to G-Garden, taking Selphie with him. Zell married the Library Girl, whose name I found out at the wedding was Nadia. She was Nida’s twin sister, who knew?

Life in B-Garden went on, without the Discipline Committee. Cid retired with Matron to restore the lighthouse and make up for lost time. Quistis took over as Principal and Xu took over Garden Administration. I let them fight it out to see who gave orders to whom. I was still Commander of SeeD but that only mattered during Sorceress Attacks and other infrequent events. Zell was busy all the time, using his fantastic energy to help his adopted father with his shipping business, his wife set up a public library in Balamb, and his mom run for mayor. With what was left over he taught art and shop at B-Garden and complained about the cafeteria’s menu. 

I taught command and tactics, strategy and logistics, summoning and magical attacks. All the things I was good at and hated. 

We had a group of younger students out; they were too little to even call cadets. The purpose of the exercise was to practice setting up a camp and taking watches. The area was supposed to be fairly secure, but I had Encounter None up, anyway. We used the buddy system and 3rd watch was Merced and Enita, both 11 years old. One of them saw something, and not understanding fully how Encounter None worked, Merced went to investigate. Enita went with him because she was his buddy and we had drilled into the children not to separate. The kids were armed with quarter staffs; a good beginner’s weapon they were unlikely to accidentally use against themselves. 

The children passed outside the Encounter None field, which alerted me. By the time I arrived, however, a laughing belhelmel had already cast Confuse on Enita and its geezards were preparing to drag her away for dinner. Merced charged the creature and got a lucky hit with the staff. It immediately flipped to furious mode and retaliated with its slice attack. It only took me a few seconds to dispatch the belhelmel and geezards but the damage was done. Merced lost his left eye and gained an ugly, sweeping scar. 

I called for evac while the other instructors supervised breaking camp and bugging out. I was sitting on the ground, holding Merced, while Enita tried not to cry. She finally wiped her eyes and said, “Merce, you will have a scar like Commander Leonhart!”

He replied, “Really? Cool.”

I put in my resignation immediately after they were secured in the Infirmary. 

Zell and Quistis understood. Quistis told me to go to Esthar. “Even if you aren’t ready to deal with your father,” she said, “Ellone is there, and she might be able to give you some advice.”

Zell gave me a hug at the dock. “Go live your own life, Squall. Why should Seifer be the only one who got away?”

I thought about both bits of advice a lot during the ferry ride and train trip that followed. Zell was right, I wasn’t living my own life but the one that had been crafted for me. Seifer left and presumably found his own way; so could I.  
If only I knew where to look. 

I went to Esthar to see Sis and ended up staying a while at the Presidential Palace. Laguna and I still have a lot to work out, but one thing he had going for him: Laguna knew very well how it felt to be trapped by a sense of duty in a job you hated. 

I didn’t hate all my life, I’m not masochistic enough to put up with that. A little soul searching told me I liked working with children and I liked teaching. I just didn’t want to train the next generation of killers. 

I took some classes and got a formal degree in Education. Then I set out in search of children to educate. I found a small school district in the outlands and was hired as a substitute teacher and coach. 

The School District had a number of summer programs for when regular classes weren’t in session. These were informal; the parents signed the kids up and dropped them off for nature walks, swimming lessons, math and reading tutoring, art, and all that. I taught self-defense for 5-10 year olds. A few talks on common sense, some basic techniques, a little beginner martial arts and the children left slightly more world wise and safer. Or at least, more dangerous to their siblings. Whatever.

Some of the children caught on quickly and some did not. I paired them off, letting those with superior athletic skill coach the ones having trouble. We were working on breaking a hand hold when one of my little subcoaches said, “Hyne on the halfshell, Mallu, you are never getting away like that. Why don’t you just carry a sign that says ‘please don’t kidnap me’ and see if that works?”

A six year old stood with her hands on her hips, scolding an older boy. She was blond and green eyed and I knew without asking she was the Almasy on my class list. 

What the hell. Seifer had bred. 

 

***

 

The last time I saw Squall we were trying to kill each other. I had tortured him, imprisoned our friends, and tried to feed his girlfriend to a crazed sorceress from the past. So you may be expecting a lot of emotions to be passing through my mind. Fear, that Squall was here to get revenge. Regret, that I’d allowed Ultimecia to use me to harm my adopted family. 

What I was actually feeling was relief. I knew Squall Leonhart; we’d grown up together. He may want to kill me, but he’d kill and die for my daughters. Just like I would for his kids. 

“Seifer?” he prompted. 

“Yeah. Hey, how did you know who I was?”

“Her family name is Almasy. She looks just like you. And,” he added dryly, “you signed the permission slip.”

“Oh, yeah, duh. Listen, Squall, I need a favor...”

Squall promised to go pick up Sam and take both girls to our home and wait for either me or Jamie to show up. I gave him the secret password for Sam’s school - Lionheart. He was man enough not to laugh, although he did comment, “Nice to be remembered.”

Lani and I settled back to a several hour trip on winding mountain roads in the pitch dark. During a hurricane. Many white knuckled hours later we made it back to town. I took Lani straight home, telling her I’d give her a ride to work since we left her car at the office. “But sleep in a little tomorrow, it’s after midnight.”

“I’m not coming in tomorrow,” Lani said. “I’ll be shampooing my carpets.”

Like it’s my fault her mop dog can’t hold it for 18 plus hours. 

I staggered into my livingroom and Leonhart was sprawled on my couch. I knew he wasn’t asleep because any SeeD worth his salt would wake up at the change of pressure in the room. Also, I wasn’t quiet about taking off my boots.

Right then I had more important things on my mind, and I tiptoed down the hall to the girl’s room to check on them. And about had a heart attack when they weren’t there. Parental brain and logic took over and I peeked into my bedroom. Morgan, Sam and a quarter million dolls and stuffed animals had invaded my bed. Morgan’s little way of making sure she knew when I came home. 

I did the tucking in and forehead smooching thing. Sam murmured “Night, Daddy,” and curled up closer to her sister. Morgan never twitched. There was no real estate in the bed for me, and Leonhart had the couch, so I decided ‘fuck it’ and went to make coffee. 

Squall padded into the kitchen as soon as the pot was done gurgling and I handed him a cup without asking. He cradled it in and looked past me to the clock on the microwave. 

“One twenty two,” I said helpfully. “Do you have to work tomorrow?” That would suck. 

“Yes, I should be going.”

“You will get more sleep staying here on the couch, the roads are still a mess. I can get you some blankets and a pillow.”

“Do I get my choice of Princess Pink or the Chickabos wearing hats?”

I laughed. “I see you got the tour.”

“Morgan was anxious to show off. You’ve done well.” Squall sipped his coffee and added archly, “Loved the pink butterflies in your office.”

“Hey, it helps keep me in touch with my feminine, creative side.” Asshole. 

Squall knew me well enough I didn’t even have to say it out loud. Just like he didn’t have to change expression for me to know he was laughing his ass off. I grinned at him, then got serious. “Hey, I really do appreciate this. You have no idea how glad I was to hear your voice.” 

He murmured something along the lines of he’d do it for any kid. And Squall would, I knew that, but these were my kids and I owed him. If it were just a neighbor or something I’d offer some cash for his trouble but Squall would stuff that gil up my nose. After he’d cut my head off. 

Well, they pay teachers shit, and Squall was only a substitute at that. He was probably coaching just to make ends meet. There was more than one way to improve a guy’s life a little. “If you aren’t sick to death of the Almasy family, why don’t you come over after the game Saturday and we’ll grill some steaks? We can talk over old times - or bring your blade and I’ll give you a free swipe at me.”

“I don’t need-” Squall frowned. “You use the gunblade in front of your daughters?”

“We go monster hunting, they know. Kids just accept stuff, they don’t ask the questions you expect them to ask.”

“I can’t kill you in front of children.”

Hurt, I asked, “You want to kill me?”

“I might do it accidentally if we sparred.”

Oh, it was on, now. “Bring your blade. Saturday. You and me, out back.”

“All right,” Squall said. “But no new scars, the District’s Health Plan is worthless.”


	3. Chapter Three

The rains stopped and the sun came out in time for the big game on Saturday. The field had that lush, deep watered look. For about 12 seconds.

Once the girls were so coated with mud we couldn’t tell the teams apart, Sam dug into our Bleachers Survival Kit and settled back with an apple and her current favorite book, “Happy Bunnies Go Shopping”. We agreed I’d poke her in time for her to look sisterly attentive at the end of the game.

  
I poured myself some coffee from one of the several thermos bottles in the kit. Only one held coffee, the rest were all hot water. They don’t have showers or even locker rooms for first graders and we had to get the mud off Morgan somehow, or Sam wouldn’t let her in the truck. Sam actually suggested we roll Morgan in a tarp and tie her over a fender like an elk, which Morgan thought was a wonderful idea. We compromised on hot water and a blanket until we could get home and throw everything, including our star forward, into the wash.

My phone played “Old MacDonald” and Sam said, “Mom!” She grabbed it out of my pocket before it went to the EIEIO. My favorite part was here a bitch, there a bitch, everywhere a bitch bitch...

“Hi Mommy,” Sam chirped. “He’s right here. No, we’re watching Boss play. Morgan. I know her name, Mommy, I’m not stupid.” She frowned and handed the phone to me. “Mom wants to talk to you.”

“Thanks, Lady Bug. If you are done with your apple, why don’t you throw the core away down there in that trash bin?” As soon as she moved off I put the phone to my ear, ready to start the next round of the Jamie vs Seifer fights.

Jamie was already scolding, “She has a name, Seifer. They both have names, you should use them. And organic refuse like apple cores should be composted, not thrown in the general trash.”

“The girls are fine, Jamie, thanks for calling back. Three hynebedamned days later.”

“Forgive me for having a life.”

“Forgive me for thinking you gave a damn. “

“About you? I don’t. Obviously the crisis resolved itself without me. I was out of town anyway.”

“It never occurred to you to let me know you were leaving town?” I had one eye on Sam, but she had stopped to talk to the mother of one of Morgan’s teammates. That meant I had a little more time before I had to start sounding polite.

“My days of answering to you are over, remember?”

As if. Jamie ruled the roost and Morgan, Sam and I never even got a vote. “I was actually thinking that Sam might like to know where her mother was of a night, but you know, she never did when we were married so I suppose that’s business as usual.”

She let that slide. That was how Jamie handled things, denial so complete she just blipped over mentions of whatever she was avoiding. “Peter was offered a position at the University in Esthar City, we were looking for apartments, there.”

“Congratulations to the Professor. I can see that is going to involve some difficult choices for you, since you are going to be having a long distance relationship with either your husband or your daughter.”

“I’m glad you’re being your typical charming self because that makes this much easier. I’ve decided I want custody of Samantha.”

I went cold. “Not going to happen.”

“Full custody, Seifer. Peter brought up some very interesting facts about your past. And those frantic messages you left just add to my case that you are unfit to look after the girls.”

“Yes,” I ground out, mindful of Sam settling beside me. “Any court in the world would find it odd that a father, discovering the hynebedamned road had washed out, would call the mother of his child to pick her up from school.”

“Something about a war, in Galbadia.”

“Something about adultery. Right here in town.”

“And a sorceress?”

“Listen, Jamie,” I said, as a Morgan shaped mud wad ran towards us, grinning. “You do some more research on that. Read all about it. Find out, if you can, about the god Odin and what happened to him. And then decide if you think you have better odds than he did.”

Jamie was squawking “Was that some kind of threat?” but I had Morgan and Sam to deal with and hung up.

“Give me a hug, Lady Bug!” Morgan said, holding out her arms.

“Daddy!” My little prissy princess shrieked, hiding behind me. “Don’t let her touch meeeee.”

I was in a flaming bad mood, thanks to Jamie, but years of practice made me paste on the parental jolly grin. “I think you missed a spot near your left eyebrow there, Boss. I can still see skin instead of mud.”

She rubbed the spot. “Mud is good for your skin, that’s what Ansetta’s mother says.”

“That’s clean mud, it comes in jar. I saw it on TV.” Sam was still hiding behind me.

“It may be good for your skin but it’s bad for the inside of the truck. C’mon, let’s rinse you off at least.”

I glanced over to where Squall was chatting with some parents. Specifically, he was holding the ball under one arm and nodding while the parents talked. He finally escaped and made his way over to us. Squall was nearly as muddy as the girls and that made my fake grin a real one.

“Good thing we have two bathrooms, no waiting.”

He gestured with the ball. “I thought I would go home first.”

Because I was feeling pissy, I snapped, “Our showers aren’t good enough?”

Squall tipped his head and looked at me through a fall of silky brown hair. “I didn’t bring a change of clothes. Or my blade.” He let his gaze wander to some of the more insane rugby parents. “Too tempting.”

I could see his point, we were an odd bunch. There was some madness inherent in sitting on a damp wooden bleacher in the fuck chilly autumn sun watching your daughter create mayhem and get covered with mud. The Moms were the worst; the ones who weren’t rabid were on the prowl.

“So we’ll see you in, say, an hour?”

“Is something wrong,” Squall asked softly. “Is it a bad time?”

How could he tell? He was oblivious man. I pulled up my mental Big Boy britches and said, “No, just grumpy with my Ex. I already have the steaks marinating, you have to come, the girls won’t eat it.”

“We’re having hamburgers,” Sam volunteered. “You can have one, too.”

I thought the reason why kids’ menus in steak houses were always hamburgers was because you didn’t waste expensive food on a child who was probably going to drown it in ketchup. Come to find out, kids just like hamburger better. I think it’s because they don’t have the teeth to deal with steak.

“All right,” Squall said, smiling. “I’ll bring dessert. And my gunblade.”

He had a goofy smile. It looked good on him.

 

****

 

I could admit I’d missed Seifer. He’d been a large and annoying part of my formative years. It was hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that Seifer had moved on with his life to the point of marriage and children. It was curiosity as much as anything that made me accept his invitation for dinner.

I found myself on his doorstep, apple cake in hand, a little overwhelmed by how domestic it all was. Last time there had been the wind, rain, and tired and frightened little girls. This time I could see the neatly edged lawn, the bicycles, the flower box, the suburbanity of it all. He had a porch, with a mail box and mat. Given Seifer’s sense of humor, it didn’t say ‘Welcome’ but ‘You are here’. I obediently stood on the X and rang the bell.

The door yanked open to shrieks of “Mr. Leeeeeeeoooon is heeeeere!” My best player, Morgan, and her little sister bounced like puppies in what I assumed was a welcome.

“Hyne on a hotrod, don’t eat him now or we’ll have nothing for supper.” Seifer called from deeper inside the house.

“Is that cake? Mr. Leon brought caaaaaake!”

I instinctively held the cake higher and Morgan tried to leap for it, laughing.

“Morgan, calm down. Mr. Leon will think I don’t feed you.” Seifer was trying to get past his daughters to greet me, but Morgan was expert at blocking.

The younger girl quieted, and tipped her head, looking at the hyperjunction where I carried Lionheart. So Seifer had also passed on the peculiar magical gift we all shared. I caught his eye and he smiled and shrugged. At least she wasn’t a sorceress, thank Hyne.

“You don’t feed us cake, Daddy. Except on birthdays. I can carry it to the kitchen for you, Mr. Leon.”

“Will all of it get there?”

With her father’s smirk, Morgan said, “Depends on what kind it is.”

I decided I would be the one to carry the cake to the kitchen. As I passed Seifer I asked, “How did you get them both to be just like you?”

He grinned at me. “I had them both by myself.”

The girls accompanied us, talking continuously. Seifer managed to distract them by assigning tasks - salad for Morgan, setting the table for Samantha. He offered me my choice of caffination and soda in hand, I followed him out to the patio.

Seifer had a patio. With a barbecue. A backyard, with a swing set and jungle gym and a garden along the side. I gaped.

“My second wife,” Seifer volunteered as he poked the coals, “had this story book vision of the perfect home.”

“What happened?”

“She moved on to try again with different characters. Some of the staging remains.”

“I wondered about the bathroom done in black, white, pink and poodles.”

He laughed. “That’s for the girls. Mine is all rustic with a border of little outhouses. What is the logic of decorating your bathroom in bathrooms?”

“What is the logic of decorating a purely utilitarian room at all?”

Seifer shook his head. “Women love bathrooms. It’s some sort of temple for them. They spend hours in there and they aren’t even reading on the can or whacking off.”

I was saved from having to think of a comment by Morgan sticking her head out the back door. “Daddy.” She vanished back inside.

Seifer set the metal basket of vegetables off to the side and ratcheted the steaks up a notch. “Must go do the parental thing.”

I drifted after him.

“What’s up?” Seifer asked when we got into the kitchen.

“We don’t have four place mats that match!” Samantha said accusingly.

“Is that a problem?”

“It’s a problem,” Morgan confirmed.

Samantha threw her arms wide and said dramatically, “It’s a crisis!”

Seifer glanced at me. I admired his ability not to laugh. “Mr. Leon will understand. We’re cooking out, it’s casual.”

“Mr. Leon is not causal! Mr. Leon is company! And a teacher!”

“Teachers are special,” Morgan clarified.

“Good to know,” I murmured. I got the carefully not laughing expression from Seifer again and gave him my best bland look in return.

“Well,” Seifer said, “That is a problem. What are we going to do?”

“Go buy some?” Samantha suggested, but she sounded doubtful

“No can do, not enough time. The steaks are moving from blissfully rare to faintly too medium as we speak.”

Morgan sighed. “Never mind, Daddy, I’ll handle it.”

“You sure, Boss?”

“Yes, we’ll just have to fake it. Come on, Lady Bug, let’s go see what we got.”

“Have,” Seifer and I corrected automatically.

The girls didn’t notice. Samantha followed her older sister down the hall, saying wistfully, “I wish Mom didn’t take all the place mats when she moved out.”

“They were ugly anyway,” Morgan comforted her.

Samantha’s mother had moved out, taking the table linens, and left her daughter? Granted, Seifer was more likely to part with place mats than his children, so maybe it was involuntary. Even so, I was forming a mental image of Samantha’s mother that was not complimentary.

“Nice going, Leonhart. Now I’m going to be spending my day off pretending to give a shit in the housewares department.”

“Teachers are special,” I reminded him.

Seifer opened his mouth to reply, but what came out was, “Steaks!” He sprinted back out to the patio.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Real life is easier for some people.

The table was set with sheets of pink construction paper as mats. Our napkins were paper towels folded like fans. The center piece was a pink princess doll complete with pointy hat and plastic unicorn companion. 

“Looks very nice,” I said as I took my seat. Samantha and Morgan beamed. 

Seifer was a surprisingly good cook. Dinner was simple; steaks for the two of us, hamburger patties for the girls and a medley of grilled vegetables - carrots, squash, sweet potatoes and some other things that weren’t too bad. Morgan made the salad by adding cherry tomatoes and sunflower seeds to a bagged premix and her little sister set out the rolls from a local bakery. 

Seifer started the conversation by asking if I would be teaching full time soon. The girls jumped in suggesting teachers I could replace. I managed to derail that without saying anything that could get back to the staid and tenured people they named. 

“So, Squall,” Seifer said, taking pity on me, “You think the Toramas can make it to the playoffs?”

“Squall?” Morgan asked.

“Mr. Leon’s first name.”

“Teachers have regular names?” Sam asked, astonished.

Looking from her father to me and back, Morgan added, “You know Mr. Leon’s name?”

“Mr. Leon and I go way back, didn’t you know that? We grew up together. I’ve known him since he was younger than you, Lady Bug.”

“Many long years.” I put in.

Both girls were suitably impressed. It was more rewarding being a celebrity for being a teacher and an old friend of the family than for being Commander of SeeD. We finished dinner chatting comfortably about our childhood. Seifer kept the conversation away from things like SeeD training, fighting, or the fact that it was an orphanage, and I took my cues from him. I hadn’t thought of our younger years as particularly happy ones, but Seifer found a lot of anecdotes for us to laugh about.

“I’m stuffed,” he finally said. “Let’s skip dessert.”

“I’m not stuffed,” Morgan said promptly.

“Finish your vegetables, then.”

“I’m too full for vegetables.” 

“But not cake?” 

“Cake fits in different, Daddy.” Samantha put in. “Everyone knows that. It’s softer.”

“Anyway, it would be rude not to eat Mr. Leon’s cake.”

Seifer laughed. “Well, we can’t be rude to a teacher. You want coffee with your cake, Squall?” He stood and started clearing the table. 

“Please.” 

Seifer had learned to delegate, at least. He had the girls sweeping crumbs off the table, finding clean forks, setting out cups for milk and coffee. He quickly wrapped the left overs and rinsed the dishes while the coffee perked. Never in my wildest imaginings did I see Seifer Almasy puttering around a kitchen. 

He opened the cake box and took a moment to admire. The girls crowded up, as well. “Too pretty to eat,” he pronounced, closing the box.

Morgan and Samantha wailed, “Noooo,” and grabbed for it. Samantha added politely, “But it is pretty.”

“But not too pretty to eat.” Morgan added.

“Well, if it’s ok with Squall... Mr. Leon, I mean.”

Feeling the need to mediate, I reminded them “The whole purpose of cake is to eat it.” 

The girls cheered and Seifer sliced the cake. I’d added extra cinnamon crumble on top, knowing children tended to like things sweeter, and it was met with approval. “Where’d you get this? I may have to try them out.”

“My kitchen.”

Seifer nearly dropped the knife. “You cook?” His expression indicated the domesticity was surreal for him, as well. 

“I cook.”

Laguna bet he could teach me, in fifteen minutes or less, something that would be more useful in my daily life than anything I learned at Garden. Then he took me down to the Palace kitchen and showed me how to fry an egg. 

He won the bet.

Turned out cooking was what my father did to relax. Surprisingly, Laguna in the kitchen never required a fire extinguisher or medical assistance. It became a way for us to spend time together without awkward conversation. Bonus: I learned a lot. 

“Wonders never cease. Ok, Mr. Leon slaved over this cake for us so try not to inhale it. In fact, first one done does the dishes.” 

“What if it’s Mr. Leon?” Samantha the future lawyer asked. 

“Then we all do them.”

“Eat slow,” Morgan advised me. “Daddy can’t resist cake.”

Over all, I’d seen worse table manners at State dinners, and not always from the President. Seifer did finish first, then tried to steal bites from the girl’s plates, earning scolds and protests. Once we were done, Seifer let his daughters escape to the back yard to play on the swing set while he cleaned the kitchen. I sipped coffee and watched.

“You and Rinoa never hooked up?” Seifer said casually, setting plates in the dishwasher. 

I shook my head. “Zone.”

“Ah, yeah, I thought that was how the wind was blowing. They still together?”

“Last I heard. Rin is the Mayor of Timber; Zone is a doctor.”

“Let me guess, specializing in gastro intestinal disorders?” Seifer dropped in the last of the silverware and shut the washer. “What about you, you never married?”

“I’m light in my loafers.” 

Seifer face palmed. “Hyne, did Morgan say that? I’m sorry; she heard it from someone at school.”

Not fazed by me coming out to him, just upset that his kid might have offended me. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or annoyed Seifer took the news so casually. “So did I, one of the 4th grade teachers, in fact.”

“He think you didn’t know how your own clock ticked?”

“Did you?”

Seifer gave me his cool ice green glare. “Yeah, I did.”

Did he mean he always knew my preferences, or that he always knew his own? Was I the only one who wasn’t sure?  
I must have considered it too long, because Seifer cut on the dishwasher and said briskly, “You up for some sparring? I have a desk job, I have to work off cake when I indulge.”

Base lie from how well his jeans fit. I realized I’d been looking. “Rules?”

“I never learned how to play by the rules.” 

 

Seifer fetched Hyperion from a locked cabinet in his office. “I want the girls inside before we start.”

I nodded. It would be dangerously distracting to have to keep watching out for them. I summoned Lionheart and checked him over, same as Seifer was examining his blade; that and a little stretching made up a prebattle ritual neither of us would forgo. 

Hyperion held easily over his shoulder, Seifer went to the sliding glass door that led out to the backyard and whistled sharply. Both girls immediately stopped swinging and gave their father full attention. 

“Come inside for a bit, Mr. Leon and I want to show you something.”

“What is it, is it something educational?” Morgan was easy going but child enough to be weighing playing on the swings versus learning something on her day off. 

“You have Hyperion out, is there a monster?” Sam’s eyes were round and made larger by her glasses. 

The girls crowded into the kitchen. “Mr. Leon has a gunblade, too!” Morgan made it sound like I had passed some ultimate test of coolness. 

“Squall and I used to spar all the time.”

“What’s spar?” Sam asked.

“Play fight for practice.”

“Like in the movies? Storm of SeeD uses a gunblade.” I winced. Even his name was a knock off of mine, the whole thing was so embarrassing. I knew Morgan was a big fan of the franchise; she even had a Storm of SeeD lunch box she’d shown me.

Amused, Seifer said, “You know how I laughed all through that movie? You’ll see why, now. First, listen up: No matter what happens, what you see or think you see, do not come outside until I say you can. Got it? You can watch through the door but if one molecule of either of you passes that threshold I will know I can’t trust you.”

“Got it, Daddy.” Morgan said. Sam nodded. 

He looked them both over and nodded before swaggering out into the yard. I hefted Lionheart and followed. 

“You don’t have to pull your blows,” he said, squaring off. The yard was large enough to spar in, but if we really got into it, the landscaping could suffer. 

I shrugged. “Never learned how.”

Seifer flashed me his rakehell smirk and attacked. Gone were the days where he let me take first swing, not that I needed it anymore. Our blades rang together, meeting with the inevitability of sea and shore. In my memory, lightening filled the sky, followed by the low visceral boom of thunder. 

It was an old dance, exhilarating even though we’d done it a thousand times before. Yet this time was different, Seifer and I were both older, stronger, and our fighting styles reflected that. Seifer, for all his size, was catquick and his blows were like licks of flame. If he caught me with the vicious hook on Hyperion’s underside, I would be disarmed in a heartbeat. I was smaller but was the better defender, and I had stamina and time on my side. If Seifer couldn’t make me mad enough to make a mistake, he would tire, get angry himself, and make mistakes of his own.   
Seifer tended to win because he was an expert at pissing me off. 

Hyperion bled fire, a counterpoint to the blue light and gently drifting snowflakes from Lionheart. I was strong enough, now, to parry Seifer’s blows one handed and give a decent hit back. He grinned at me, the tight feral look of laughing at the edge, and said, “I thought you never learned how to pull your blows?”

He regretted that after the next volley. It was my turn to grin. The thunder broke like the surf against the rocks. All I could see was Seifer, his blade, and the sky filling with lightening. His coat snapped in the wind like a flag on a warship. 

I kept pressing him; to stop now was death. I got a lucky cut and twisted Hyperion out of Seifer’s hand. He’d been fighting right handed but with his incredible dexterity Seifer caught the stock on the flip with his left hand, spinning the heavy pistol grip to get her back under control. Seifer’s right hand came up, possibly for balance. 

He’s going to cast, I thought. Behind my eyes, a lion roared. 

It sounded like thunder.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody has problems of his own.

I found myself with my foot on Seifer’s arm, pinning the hand that held his deadly gunblade. I had Lionheart at his throat. Lightening roiled around us in the chilly predawn light. 

We were in Seifer’s backyard, in the butter colored autumn afternoon sun. 

Both were equally insane. I stepped back, sheathing Lionheart, and covered my eyes with my hand. Which reality was current?

The sun was warm on my back. I took a deep breath of air scented with barbecue smoke instead of seashore. 

I’d allowed the lion to get out and it had nearly killed Seifer, Hyne! in front of his two little girls. I squared my shoulders and dropped my hand, ready for the recriminations, the looks of horror, the fear and disgust. 

“So,” Seifer said in his lazy drawl, still flat on his back, “Best two out of three?”

The glass door slid open. “Can we come out, now, Daddy?” Morgan asked.

Seifer rolled to his feet, Hyperion vanishing into the hypersheath on his back. “Sure, come on out.”

The girls charged out, both talking at once. Or squealing. There was jumping up and down and arm waving. I thought they were upset until I noticed the big grins. 

“Awesome! That was awesomely awesome with awesome sauce!”

“Awesome sauce?” I said, dazed. 

“It’s like applesauce, only it adds awesome instead of vitamins,” Seifer explained.

“It was like in the movies!” Samantha added.

“Yeah, Storm of SeeD! Only better.”

“Lots better! It was like a fairy tale. Fighting a dragon or, I know, fighting for a princess’s hand.”

“Just the hand? Not the whole princess?” Seifer stretched and laughed.

They weren’t afraid. I shook my head. Of course they weren’t, they were Seifer’s spawn. 

“Yes,” Sam said enthusiastically. “The good prince and the bad prince fight over who gets to marry the beautiful princess.”

“Who’s the good prince and who’s the bad one?” The bizarre thing was, I was practically a prince since my father ruled the country.

“Well, you won.” Morgan said slowly. 

“Hey, you are still both my princesses.” Seifer said. “So go get your poor old dad a bottle of water from the fridge. Bring one for Mr. Leon, too.”

“Okay, Daddy!” Sam ran back into the house. 

“Give her a hand, Boss.”

Morgan turned to follow, pausing in the doorway. “That was so way neato. Storm of SeeD is a lamer compared to you guys.” She vanished inside. 

“High praise?”

“Indeed. For the record,” Seifer said, “I have nothing to do with Storm of SeeD other than laughing my ass off and buying merchandise.”

I sighed. “Me, either. It’s based on a series of books from Galbadia. I suspect Irvine writes them.”

“That would explain a lot.” 

I glanced at the door. The girls were trotting back, so there wasn’t much time. “I’m sorry.”

“About what?”  
I gestured to where Seifer had been lying in the grass. “For...” I shrugged. “Nearly killing you.”

Seifer scoffed. “You did not ‘nearly kill me’. I’ve had worse getting between you and the coffee pot of a morning. Anyway, since you can’t beat me you must have cheated.” He grinned at me. 

“I don’t need to cheat to kick your ass.” I was getting the urge to go for the best two out of three to prove it, too. A glance at the girls changed my mind. Instead, I folded my arms across my chest and huffed while Seifer made ridiculous accusations not even his daughters believed.

Hyne, he hadn’t changed a bit. 

 

 

Seifer let me use the guest bath to freshen up. Surrounded by pink and white poodles, I washed my face in bubble gum scented soap and tried to get my head back together. Was dueling with Seifer a good idea or was it going to make the flashbacks worse? He didn’t seem to be affected, but it was hard to tell, with Seifer. He was a master at covering fear and uncertainty with bravado and bullshit. 

A selfish part of me felt it was worth the risk. Seifer, of everyone I knew, could hold his own against me. And I’d forgotten the rush and joy of sparring with another professional. We’d try it again, I decided. But not in front of his little girls. I had a Rez but I didn’t want to explain to Morgan and Samantha that their father would be coming back to life as soon as I stuck his head back on and the sparkles faded.

Seifer offered my choice of soda or coffee when I emerged. The girls were settled down at the coffee table, drawing pictures and watching Storm of SeeD rescue wild chocobos during a hurricane. It had to be Irvine writing those. Most of the rest of us would summon the chocoboy to deal with the horrible creatures. 

I made my excuses, which Seifer accepted with easy grace. He walked me to the door, cheerfully announcing, “We’re not giving the cake back, and I’m holding your cake thing hostage, so you have to come again.”

“I’d like that.”

We shook hands and I drove home, trying to sort out what I was feeling. I took off my boots and gave into the inevitable by dialing one of the only numbers I knew by heart. 

“So,” the President of Esthar said, “did they like the cake?”

 

****

 

Sunday morning started with a discussion about having cake for breakfast. 

“No,” I said. 

“We’re out of cereal and only have two eggs.” Morgan made it sound like it was my fault we’d decided to have omelets for dinner Thursday. 

“What about those 42 boxes of vitamin fortified things that you guys swore you would eat?”

Patiently, Morgan said, “That was before we found out it tasted like throw up.”

“I’m never buying those again. I don't care if there is a free GF in every box.” I sighed. “I could make pancakes.”

“What’s the difference between pancakes and cake cake?” Sam asked. 

I was almost sure there was a distinction, and that it was an important one. Damned if I could think of it. “Oatmeal?”

“The only difference between oatmeal and cake,” Morgan instructed us, “is that oatmeal is gross.”

And, considering how Sam doctored hers, the cake probably had less sugar. 

“You have donuts and coffee for breakfast, Daddy, I’ve seen you.” 

“Donuts are just little round cakes,” Sam pointed out.

They had me on the ropes and they knew it. I reached for Squall’s cake carry and a knife. “Hey now, don’t think just because I do things you can too. I do a lot of things I hope you will never do. Like grow a beard.”

 

True to my prediction, I spent Sunday afternoon in the home decorating section of the local department store. Morgan kindly sent me to stand with the other men by the large screen televisions and watch the game while she “Handled it.” There was a reason her nickname was Boss – she’d been that way since she learned to talk. A bit before, actually. One of the reasons why Morgan and Jamie never got on was a house can only hold one managing woman at a time. Morgan felt she had seniority.

I kept one eye on the game for appearances sake and one eye on my girls. They enlisted the help of a highly entertained saleslady to find the perfect sets of matching placemats, napkins, and napkin rings. Sam’s tastes ran to pink and hopelessly impractical whereas Morgan leaned more towards eclectic and eye searing.

The sales lady, Hyne bless her soul, talked them into sturdy plastic mats shaped like autumn leaves, and simple wooden napkin rings with carved acorns. She suggested nice paper napkins, but offered some plain linen ones for special occasions. Given the hand eye coordination typical at our dinner table, the mats would have to be washed after every meal and I didn’t relish doing laundry 3 times a day if we got stuck with fabric ones. Plus I think Jamie used to iron hers, and the napkins, something that would not be happening again in our house until Sam was old enough to use the iron. Assuming she still gave a grat’s ass about it by that point.

“Daddy!” Morgan called. “Come pay for this.”

One of the men watching the game with me laughed. “Get used to hearing that line, Buddy. Mine are in college and Hyne let me tell you I pay and pay.”

I sighed dramatically. “A Dad’s work is never done.”

The saleslady winked at me as I sauntered over, fishing out my wallet. “Your mom is going to be very pleased with these,” she said to the girls. 

“My mom has her own placemats,” Sam said. “These are for us.”

The saleslady put two and two together and the next wink I got sent a whole different message. Since I’d sworn off women, I bundled up the girls and goods and hotfooted it to the truck.

We made it out of there without having to hit the toy department, but I did have to stop for ice cream.

 

 

Monday had me visiting my lawyer, Tomas Howard. Tom was great in a divorce settlement because he made it very clear, up front, that he was on the kids’ side no matter who was paying his bills, and he didn’t want any petty bullshit from the parents. He was tall and thin and wore geek glasses and looked like the kind of guy who got beat up a lot, but once Tom started talking, it was clear that behind his nerdy exterior was a white hot intellect and a razor sharp tongue. Jamie had been lucky to get out with her placemats intact.

“Jamie wants Sam,” I told him glumly, after we shook hands.

“Why now? And by ‘wants’ do you mean joint custody?” He pushed his glasses up his nose, a sign he was getting serious.

“By wants I mean she’s moving to Esthar City and thinks she is taking Sam with her. Professor Prick got a job there boring college students to suicide.” I flopped in his leather guest chair while he took his place behind the big shiny desk. I had a big desk in my office, too, but it was metal and covered with plans. 

“And Jamie is pregnant and nesting and a four hour trip to see her daughter is just too long. Not good.”

“Tell me about it. Wait, tell me how you knew Jamie was expecting.”

“Phfft, everyone knows. Small town. Just like I know you had the rugby coach over for a cook out. And you didn’t invite me.” Tom clutched his heart like he was mortally wounded.

I laughed. “I didn’t have enough steaks for your horde.” Tom and his wife, Ruth, never had any children of their own, but they took in foster kids and at any given time never had less than 6. 

“I’ll give you a second chance, there is a huge picnic after the Harvest Fair Parade. We’ll meet there, how’s that? Bring meat and drinks for your own family and one dish to share, and Ruth will handle the rest.”

“Can that dish be a sack of potato chips?” I scribbled the appointment in my notebook. “The girls will love to see you guys... as long as you promise no matchmaking. I don’t care if she’s Ruth’s identical twin sister.”

“No, no, too much perfection for one world, it couldn’t handle it. Ruth has no sisters, as a matter of fact, and mine is happily married.” Tom sighed and got back to business. “Let’s think about this. First, is Samantha better off with you or with her mother?”

Indignantly, I said, “With me! And Morgan.”

“Yes, there’s that. It would certainly upset her sister for them to be separated. Why is Samantha better off with you?”

“Because it’s her home, I’ve always been there for her, Morgan has always been there. We’re the stable portions of her life. Besides, I don’t trust Jamie.”

“Elaborate for me.”

I sighed. I tried hard not to hate Jamie for cheating on me, mainly for Sam’s sake. It wasn’t that I wasn’t enough for her, I understood a little of Jamie’s endless quest for the greener grass. And if I was honest with myself, I would have to admit I’d never been in love with Jamie. She just happened, and I was content with that, mainly because she gave me Samantha. But like with Solange, there was never any sweaty palm, heart pounding, I can’t live without you romantic feeling. 

That isn’t to say it didn’t hurt when I found out. The hardest part, the part I can’t forgive Jamie for, is that it killed my faith in her. Suddenly, she was a liar and a sneak and a cheat, and had been for some time. I couldn’t trust her anymore. If she would lie about something as basic as having sex with another man, who knew what kind of lies she’d been feeding me? Were those bruises on Morgan really from falling off the swing? Was Sam in tears because Jamie had scolded her for being bad or because Jamie had unleashed her poisonous tongue on the baby?

Carefully, I said, “Every time Jamie calls, Sam starts out happy and ends up upset. She nitpicks at her all the time. I don’t want Jamie infecting Sam with her inferiority complex.”

“But she was the primary care giver, right? You worked and she stayed home with the kids.”

“Until she walked out 18 months ago. I think she’s seen Sam maybe 10 times since then. And when Sam first came home from the hospital, I did all the caregiving. I worked from home then. Jamie kept house and all but... she never even touched Sam for the first few months.”

Tom tsked. “They’ll chalk that up to postpartum depression, which it could have been. How would you feel about a 50/50 split?”

I’d hate it. And so would Sam and Morgan. “How would that work? We can’t exactly do it every other day since it’s an 8 hour round trip.”

“Courts like six months with mom, six months with dad.”

“I’d say that would suck. Six months is forever when you are a little kid. She’ll come home a stranger and just be settling in again and have to leave to go be a stranger back at her mother’s. And how is that going to work when Sam starts school? “

Tom’s chair creaked as he leaned back. “How determined is Jamie to get custody?”

“Jamie is always very determined to get what she thinks she wants.” I ran my hand though my hair. “I think she only wants Sam now because she’s pregnant and wants a baby to fuss over. She was like that with Morgan, until Sam was born, then she all but ignored her. I’m afraid Sammy will be in a strange city, with her mom and a man she doesn’t know, and once her baby sister or brother is born, she’ll be invisible. Sam will be miserable.”

“The ugliest thing in the world is two parents fighting over their children. No matter how you justify it, it is always a horrible experience for the kid.”

“If I honestly thought Sam would be happier, or better off with them, I’d let her go. It would kill me, but I’d do it.”

Tom smiled at me. “I know, that’s why I’m on your side. Ok, first tactic is just to drag it out as long as we can by not doing anything. It’s not unheard of for the courts to take 6 months at least to hear a custody case and if we procrastinate a little we can make that 8 months, easy. Jamie might not want to travel 8 hours with a new baby to fight her ex for a child who is safe and happy where she is.“

I was pretty sure once the new baby arrived Jamie wouldn’t even remember Sam’s name. Tom was right, why stir up trouble when we could just let Jamie’s fickle nature take its course? I stood up. “Sounds good to me.”

“Meanwhile, take some pictures when you are doing family stuff - like Morgan’s games, the Harvest Fair, to prove you are a model dad. And don’t get drunk in public or caught with a hooker.” 

“What? I don’t even keep beer in the house! And I’m not the one who had to go looking for extra on the side.”

Tom walked me to the door. “I know, I know, but even a traffic ticket can be used to prove you are reckless and a danger to the girls. It depends on how dirty Jamie wants to play.” 

“What do you mean, dirty? ...She’s trying to dredge up stuff about the war.”

“Bad stuff? Actionable stuff?”

“Hyne. I was barely 18, and legal in Esthar is 21, right? So it is supposed to be sealed. But I was... very active in the war. On Galbadia’s side.”

Tom polished his glasses. “We may need to talk about that, later. But what I meant was...” He paused and picked his words carefully. “Time was a lot of custody cases were settled by spurious accusations of sexual misconduct.”

“Like playing around on me?”

Reluctantly, Tom said, “Like molesting your daughters.”

“The fuck? That’s not grounds for custody; it’s a defense for homicide.” Seriously. There would be death and dismemberment and not necessarily in that order. 

“These days it’s usually settled with a few questions from the Court,” Tom soothed. “They take a very dim view of false accusations.”

“If I thought the Professor was getting hinky with my girls, the only question the Court would have for me would be, ‘Okay, where’s his head?’”

Tom pounced on that like seagull on a fry. “Do you have reason to believe he’d ‘get hinky’ with them?”

“He still has his hynebedamned head, doesn’t he?”


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life goes on.

Strange how you can live in a small town and never see certain people, and then once you meet up, you run into them over and over. I had been lying low, avoiding Seifer, since I had no idea how our reunion would go. Leave it to Seifer to make it as casual as bumping into any old schoolmate. Perhaps that was how he felt; the war had been a long time ago. 

I was all too aware that the war still had its hold on me, but I was over blaming Seifer. If I ever did. We were raised from tots to be mercenaries and that carried with it the possibility that we would find ourselves fighting against each other at some point. Nothing personal, just a job. Have a contract, you know how it is. Better luck next time. Sorry I have to kill you now. 

I was over blaming Seifer but I had years left of blaming myself. 

 

Shopping for groceries in the only store in town, I heard Seifer’s voice on the next aisle. “It’s 7 gil a box for a crappy toy worth half a gil, tops. And I’ll have to buy two boxes because you guys won’t share. That’s fourteen gil for something you won’t eat.”

“We’ll eat it, Daddy!” That was Morgan. “It has a bubble fish!”

“Boss, you will not. Not even your uncle Rai would touch this stuff. You couldn’t throw it to the ducks in the pond.”

“How do you know?” Samantha the analytical one asked. 

“Anything that says right on the box it has artificial apple, banana and logan berry flavors and is advertised by a red, blue, and yellow teddy bear has to taste like a bowl of socks. If they wanted to promote the lurid colors, why not use a parrot?”

Sam said, “What’s logan berry?” the same time her sister said, “What’s ‘lurid’?”

“Lurid is brilliantly, wowiekazowie ugly. And I don’t know what a loganberry is, Lady Bug, but if it’s anything like the picture, it’s a hamster treat.”

“Everyone at school has a bubble fish, Dad.”

“I don’t know what that is, either.”

“You take the fish and dip it in soapy water and it blows bubbles, it’s super slick.” Morgan sighed. “I never get anything I want.” 

“Hey, now-”

“I ate a hamster treat once,” Sam volunteered. 

I rounded the corner in time to see Seifer double take at his youngest. “Hold that thought, Boss. All right, Lady Bug, I have to ask: why did you eat a hamster treat?”

She gave him a scathing look. “How do you know if you don’t like something if you don’t try it?”

I patted Seifer on the shoulder while he face palmed. “Say something parental, quick.”

“I’m working on it.” he muttered back. 

“What did it taste like?” Morgan asked her sister. 

“Kind of like a Popsicle stick. Oh! Hello, Mr. Leon.”

“Mr. Leon, hi!” Morgan glanced at me, and then into my cart, probably surprised that teachers shopped and ate just like normal humans. “Oh, cat food, you have a cat? I love cats!”

Seifer squared his shoulders. “Lady Bug, you can’t go around sampling things. It makes your poor old dad crazy with worry that you will accidentally poison yourself. Remember our discussion about putting things in your mouth?”

“Yes, but this was food.”

“Hamster food. You are not a hamster. And before you decide to become a hamster, don’t. You won’t like running on the little wheel and living in wood shavings. And hamsters are stupid. The world does not need more stupid beautiful women. Or hamsters.”

In the background, Samantha asked breathlessly, “Do you think I’m beautiful, Daddy?” 

Seifer answered with utter sincerity, “Of course you are.”

I politely turned my attention to Morgan. “I almost have a cat. It lives under the dumpster in the parking lot behind my apartment. Since it’s getting cold out, I thought I would try to coax it inside with food.”

“Poor kitty. What color is he? What’s his name?”

I noticed the stray went from ‘it’ to ‘he’. “A sort of muddy gray. I call it ‘Cat’.”

Morgan wrinkled her nose, displeased. Seifer said, “Mr. Imagination strikes again.” I gave him a death glare and he laughed. 

Diplomatically, Samantha said, “That’s better than ‘Dog’ or ‘Duck’.” She patted my arm. 

“’Duck’ is a great name for a cat.” Seifer teased. 

Morgan pounced on that. “Can we get a cat?”

“We can’t even agree on cereal!”

Coming to the rescue, I said, “I’ve never tried cold cereal. What do you recommend?” It was too expensive to feed kids at Garden and the Palace chefs certainly never served anything out of a box. I looked around. The shelves were full to overflowing with vibrantly colored boxes sporting cartoon characters, oddly spelled words, and promises of “prizes” I wasn’t sure I wanted to win. 

“I am sorry to inform you there is no coffee flavored cereal. And none of them are any good with coffee poured over them.” Seifer gestured to several boxes of something horrible with Now! More rainbow marshmallows! Real chocolate chunks! “A hint from the pro, if it says ‘part of this balanced breakfast’ and the picture is of the entire menu at Pancake Barn, skip it.”  
“Princess Pink has her own cereal,” Samantha said. “It has pink marshmallow hearts and the cereal is horse shoes or U’s for unicorn, I forget.” She pointed to the box which featured a photograph of the popular doll. Honesty made her add, “It kind of tastes like you’ve licked too many envelopes, though.”

“We were going to get Triple Frooty but Daddy says it tastes like socks and is made out of hamster treats.” I suspected Morgan felt it was worth enduring all that for the bubble fish.

“No Storm of SeeD cereal?”

Morgan and Sam both made faces. “It was hot and awful.”

“It was authentic, I’ll give them that. When I dumped it out, it clogged the drain - just like Garden porridge. Only with little gummy moombas.”  
I gave him an aghast look. Gummy moombas?

“GrainiOs are fun to play with but taste a lot like nothing, except the brown ones, those taste like paper bag.” Sam spoke like she had some personal experience with the comparison. “Chocoflakes are pretty good. It turns the milk to chocolate milk.” She seemed to consider this an amazing feat. “Make sure it is the choco ones and not the bran. Bran is for old people with nothing else to do.”

That sounded like a Seifer quote. I glanced at him and he smirked.

“Candy Coated Sugar Bombs taste really good but Daddy said ‘never ever again’. He only got through half a bowl before his hands started shaking.” Morgan acted like that was simply because her father couldn’t hold his sugar. She tapped a blue and orange box with a dragon on it. “Cruncheez are good, too, but you have to eat them really fast because they get mushy. They are really better just out of the box without the milk.” 

It was Seifer’s turn to come to my aid. “Try Nuttin but Fruit. It’s some sort of flake made from almond meal and whole grains and they add raisins, dates, and other dehydrated fruits and berries. It’s actually palatable and has a vitamin or two.” He handed me a box and dropped on his cart. 

Morgan sighed. “It takes a lot of milk to soften it up.”

“And there’s no chocolate,” Sam added glumly.  
Seifer rolled his eyes and added two boxes of Triple Frooty with bubble fish. “If you guys don’t eat this, you are going to have to come up with some creative way to get rid of it. ...that doesn’t back up the sink.”

“It’s pretty colors,” Sam said cheerfully. “We can glue it to stuff.”

“I know what you are getting for Yule,” Seifer stage whispered to me.

 

 

The nine and ten year olds started basic civics and it was traditional to take them on a field trip to Esthar City to see the Senate in session. They would get a tour of the historic building, eat supper in the Senate cafeteria, and stay overnight in a section of the Presidential Guards’ barracks kept open for such things. Sometimes the district Senator would give a short speech to the class or hand out some small political trinkets like campaign buttons or pencils with his name on them. 

We’d top that this year. 

As one of the volunteer chaperons, it fell to me to reserve the bus and driver for the trip. I was heading into the district offices when I spotted Seifer leaning against his truck, talking on his phone. I had to do a double take; I’d never seen him in a tie and jacket before. 

“Explain to me how it is possible to grade a road the wrong way.” Seifer nodded to me as I drifted over. He listened a while. “ ...I would have bet a kidney that was not possible. Hell, I would have bet one of my kidneys. Who the fuck was IOR? ... Long Island Lew. Hyne, that explains it. He shouldn’t be Inspector of Record, he should be in detox making friends with his liver again.” 

Seifer rolled his eyes. “...No it fucking is not okay. ...No I am not going to sign off on it! Has he lost his hynebedamned mind? People already come balls out down that mountain and when they hit that curve they are going to launch. The ones that don’t end up chunks in the gully will be having tea with the Sorceress on the hynebedamned moon.”

The person on the other end spoke at length, with Seifer making incredulous faces and scoffing noises. “Signs? Like what? Beware of low flying vehicles? Fiery death 500 feet? Spinning out and falling off the mountain could result in injury, death, and a 350 gil fine for littering?” 

“I’ll tell you what to do.” Seifer said firmly. “Pour out Lew’s iced tea and replace it with real tea. Then tell the grading guy you have good news for him, he has another job. The bad news is he’s doing it for free since he fucked it up the first time.” He hung up with snap. 

“Grading caught my attention but I see you meant a different sort from the kind I deal with.”

“He still gets a hynebedamned F for Fucking Up. Even chocobo know how to bank at speed on a downslope.” 

“Not employing the sharpest minds?” 

“Squall, if we compare your brain to Lionheart, those guys are armed with red rubber balls. Under inflated ones that don’t even bounce.”

“Should I be flattered or despairing of the rest of the human race?”

Seifer slung one arm around my shoulders. He was one of the three men in the world I would let do that. “Join me in Despair. It’s a suburb of Denial, I have a condo there. What brings you to the bastion of all things dull and clerical, by the way?”

“I am reserving a bus for the field trip to the Capital.’

“Wow, you are a glutton for punishment. You couldn’t pay me enough to supervise kids I couldn’t make run laps or drop and do pushups.”

“Why can’t I?” I let Seifer steer me into the building.

“I suppose you could, at that. Go you.” Neither of us mentioned the obvious second choice to keeping order – Sleep.  
We paused in the Lobby and Seifer offered, “Hey, I got roped into a picnic thing at the Harvest Fair, you want to come?”

Guessing, I said, “You are supposed to bring a dish.”

“Eh, I’ll grab a sack of potato chips. Come on, I know the woman organizing it and she’s a great cook. It starts after the Parade, we can eat, relax, and then hit the Fair. I like to load the girls up on real food before we get to the booths of sweet fried stuff.”

“The field trip-”

“Oh you will be back in time. There isn’t a kid in town that would go see a stuffy old politician if it meant missing the Harvest Fair. You ever been?”

I shook my head. “I moved here in June.”

“Then you have to come.” At my nod, Seifer continued, “It’s a big deal here, locally. To tell you how big, they close the schools and most city offices.”

Speaking of city offices, I asked, “What brings you here?”

“I work here.” I’m not sure what my expression was, but Seifer added, “No, seriously. I’m an independent contractor hired by the county. They can’t really afford too many full time positions and I can’t handle the politics so we compromised on me coming in a few days a week to help out. Mostly I’m just a second set of eyes on calculations and proposals.”

 

My surprise wasn’t that Seifer had his name on a brass plaque at City Hall, but that he hadn’t taken over already. Seifer was always ambitious and to give credit where it was due, smarter than the majority of our fellow students. Then again, diplomacy had never been one of his virtues, and I understood what Seifer meant by “I can’t handle the politics”. A man who sliced a god in half didn’t waste time on committees.

Seifer extracted a promise that I would be at his house bright and early the opening day of the Harvest Fair. I didn’t have his confidence that the experience would be “a blast”, but I knew better than to demur. Whatever it was Seifer had - charisma, magnetism, decades of practice - the results were always the same. He actively planned and I passively participated. 

Seifer led, I followed.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Field trips and ex wives.

The most depressing thing about being trapped on a bus for four hours with 45 little kids, three teachers I didn’t know, and a bus driver who was at best a year younger than Hyne was the fact I’d have to do it again tomorrow. I did load on Sleep spells but it wasn’t the kids I wanted to target.

I spent a short while wondering what Seifer would think of my co-chaperons for the trip. Vernetta Leesman had taught 3rd grade for the last 40 years, meaning she also taught the parents of most of her current class. In some cases, their grandparents as well. As far as I could tell, her method of coping with fractious students was to let them do whatever they liked while she knitted on some blanket thing, which by the size of it was intended to cover Balamb. Seifer would advise being nice to her on the basis that she could be hiding a rocket launcher in her sewing bag.

Miss Heather Rybicki taught third grade, was 8 years older than I, lived with her mother, and collected feathers. She liked romantic sonnets from the last century, long bicycle rides in the country, and string quartets. She was also painfully single. I knew all this because she told me in one long breathless sentence when we were introduced this morning. She contrived to sit with me for the first 30 minutes of the trip. I never before realized how disturbing the whole hand on the knee cliché could be. In my head, Seifer was shouting “Run!”

Eventually Miss Rybicki abounded her designs on my knee to attempt leading the students in an enthusiastic if off key rendition of the Estharian Anthem. She wanted them to sing it for any “August Visitors” they might receive while staying at the capitol. I knew that visitor would be Mr. President himself and that he’d eat it up. I hoped Laguna didn’t teach them a song in turn. Or at least, that it wouldn’t be the one about the hedgehog.

The fourth chaperon was none other than Mr ‘Light in the Loafers’ himself - Reginald King. And his cologne, which needed a seat to itself. Mental Seifer suggested punching him. Or at least insisting he ride on top of the bus.

I decided I was losing my mind and having imaginary conversations with Seifer wasn’t helping.

The children did well, all things considered. The bus driver, Mr. Newlbrecht, was an old hand at this run - he was an old hand at everything- and his deafness was an asset. For him. We tried to vary the route but it was impossible. Mr. Newlbrecht stopped at the points where he always stopped, and minor crises such as forgotten luggage or carsick children were ignored.

“They left my brother Jake at the scenic rest stop the year he went,” One child confided to me. “They picked him up on the way back. He said he lived on peanuts and soda from the vending machines.”

I may have been new to the School District but I had worked with kids for years. “Don’t even think about it.” The other boys his group shifted, looking guilty.

“Your brother Jake is a pathological liar, Brett Miller,” one of the others said. “Or you are, I forget which.” That led to some scuffling, which was easily handled by threatening to make them sit with girls. What is it about that age that makes boys such misogynists? I’d ask, but no one I knew well enough to ask would remember any better than I did.

We stopped every two hours; the first was the scenic rest stop. The scenery consisted mainly of banks of vending machines and the restrooms, both very welcome sights to the children. I was warned by King, Miss Rybicki and even Old Mrs. Leesman that Newlbrecht was in fact notorious for driving off and stranding kids and teachers. They were all very anxious to get the students back on the bus as soon as possible. I allowed my group to wash their hands and then run around reading the historical plaques while our driver hunted for the keys that were in my pocket. 

The sandy soil of the Estharian plains are good for various root vegetables, particularly carrots. I deduced this when the bus stopped at Carrotland. Carrotland is an honest to Hyne town devoted to the farming and promotion of carrots. We were given a tour of a carrot farm, the canning factory, and lunch at House of Carrots featuring carrot juice, chicken patties with carrots, peas and onions, and for dessert, carrot pudding. The children were as thrilled as I was. 

“That’s why the vending machines are important,” one little girl explained. She did give me half her Sticky Peanut Chocobar out of pity. 

I noticed Newlbrecht and Mrs Leesman had packed a lunch. King packed beer - I could see his point. Miss Rybicki either liked carrots and loved the food or was a far better actress than any of the rest of us. We escaped to the bus, leaving her to offer thanks for Carrotland’s hospitality. 

We were all happy to leave the bus at the Estharian Royal Barracks. A guide, selected for her perkiness, chirped a welcoming speech. We were given a few moments to stow personal belongings and break up fights over who got top bunks. 

“Hey,” King said, stopping me with an outstretched arm as I entered the ‘Men’s’ Dorm. “Shouldn’t you be across the hall with the ladies?”

It was tempting. I might be able to breathe. But Heather Rybicki was there and she was more dangerous. I could go with Mental Seifer’s suggestion and punch King, after all. That was also tempting. 

“What do you mean by that?” The temperature dropped, and not just figuratively. King had awakened and annoyed Shiva. 

King was oblivious. “You girls should stick together.”

I was still trying and discarding answers when Miss Rybicki spoke up behind us. “You can share my bed.” I wasn’t sure if she was trying for a sultry purr or coming down with a sinus infection. 

Before I could respond, King chuckled, “He’s not interested.”

“What do you know, Reg? Let the man speak for himself.”

Mouth open to do just that, I was interrupted with King’s confident, “He’s queer as green sausage, Heth.” 

I shut my mouth, the better to grind my teeth, and growled, “Not in front of the kids.”

Miss Rybicki waved a dismissive hand at the boys, who were, in fact, not eavesdropping but instead running amok up and down the aisles of beds. Presumably the girls were doing the same across the hall, under the neglectful eye of Mrs. Leesman. “Nuts to the kids, is it true?”

“What possible business is it of yours?”

“Please. I live with my mother. I get laid once a year and this is it. Am I going to have to settle for Reg again?”

“Hey!” King said, stung. 

Miss Rybicki folded her arms across her chest. “Why are all the good looking men gay?”

“Hey!” King said, again.

“I’m sorry, but I am gay and I’m not interested.”

“I’m not and I am.” King said confusingly. He grinned hopefully at Miss Rybicki, who sighed. 

We were all saved by the return of the perky guide. She gave us a tour of the Senate, along with some basic civics lectures and helpful brochures. I knew those would be spit balls and paper airplanes before the night was over. An aide for the senator of our district escorted the group to the Senate Cafeteria, explaining the Senator himself was busy. 

Busy on the south coast fishing, according to my sources. It didn’t matter, the children were much more impressed by food than politicians. 

The Trip Planners wisely did not serve the children the typical senate dinner of wine poached fish, brandied fruit compote, and cheesecake. We had chicken and rice, green beans, melon slices and apple cake. The cake recipe was familiar. 

Afterwards the children were turned out into the Royal Rose gardens to burn off some energy. We were on the opposite side of the Palace from the Lily Garden, where only a select few were allowed to walk. I debated slipping off to see my father and Sis, but Miss Rybicki and King vanished first. I shrugged. I’d be seeing them on Family Day next month, anyway. 

The plan was to let the kids play a while, then herd them back inside to wash up and hopefully do quiet activities until lights out. 

“Won’t happen,” Mrs. Leesman told me. “They’ll be up all night like howler monkeys on amphetamines. Have the liaison bring you coffee around 10, it helps.”

I have faced monsters, outer space, death and the near destruction of the planet. I would do it again. I would do it right now, unarmed, naked, and alone, if my other choice was to spend another night with 22 highly excited 10 year old boys. 

By 11 pm I was counting my Sleep spells and working on a plausible explanation. Since I could only target the boys in groups of three - and that would use up my entire stash of Triples, but was worth it - I needed a cover story that would keep the boys from stampeding out the doors in panic once their fellows started dropping. 

Then there was a knock at the door, and the President himself asked, “Did anyone order midnight snacks?”

Laguna bounded in, his arms full of pizza boxes. Mrs. Leesman and the girls were summoned to join us, and we all sat on the floor and ate pizza and drank cocoa. 

“Class, do you know who this is?” Mrs Leesman asked.

“The pizza guy!” half the class chorused. Laguna nearly fell over laughing. 

“Look, you have a job to fall back on,” I whispered to him. He grinned at me. 

“This is our President, Mr. Laguna Loire.”

One little girl pointed out, “But he’s in his jammies!” Laguna was, too, complete with presidential seal on the pocket of his bathrobe.

With a little prompting by Mrs. Leesman, the kids sang a ragged version of the National Anthem for the President. He offered to teach them a song in turn. A well placed elbow made sure it was the one about the green grass growing all around and not the one about spiny garden mammals. 

Laguna segued into telling stories, some highly colored historical insights in the founding of Esthar and the building of Esthar City. My father is a good story teller, with a pleasant, soothing voice, and the children relaxed and listened raptly. That, along with the heavy carbs and warm milk, soon had them yawning. Mrs. Leesman gathered up her girls and trundled them back to their dorm; I pointed the boys to their beds and saw the President out. 

“Security cameras picked up your missing chaperons,” Laguna said quietly. “Pretty racy stuff.”

I face palmed. “I don’t want to know. I have to work with these people.”

“Kiros wanted to break it up and possibly arrest them for public wantonness, dereliction of duty, and not being attractive enough to make him want to watch them buttering the muffins.”

I stared at my father. “Hyne. Now I not only can’t only look at Rybicki and King, I can’t eat bread around them.”

“The question is, do you want me to have Security suggest they get a room, or let it go? And should I make Kiros destroy the vid or keep it for blackmail?”

“Blackmail? What kind of country are you running?”

Laguna smiled tightly at me. “One where slobs like King don’t make gay jokes about my son. And nymphos like Rybicki keep their hands to themselves.”

“I’m out, Dad. It’s ok. You guys were cool, Seifer was good with it. I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

“All right, we’ll let it go, then. But if they give you any trouble...”

Having nothing to say to that, I gave Laguna a hug. It’s a great distraction, it makes him so happy he forgets to nag and fret. “I’ll see you next month.”

Laguna’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Come a day early, I have a new recipe for pumpkin tarts I want to try and I’ll need your help.”

 

 

Attempting to control the boys - by myself- gave me a feeling of being overwhelmed, over run by the enemy. Then I was sifting spells and dealing with Shiva, who was furious with King. Innocent, random events that came together in my subconscious and dropped me right back in the war. 

A sound in the dorm had me snorting smoke and blood out of my nose, rolling to my feet, and pulling a gunblade I’d wisely left back in my apartment in north east Esthar. I stood on the cold tiles of the Royal Barracks and tried to get my head back under control. I sniffed experimentally - no smoke, just the pungent smells of little boys sleeping off pizza, and the lingering curse of King’s aftershave. There were no screams, either, although a whispered conversation was taking place in the middle rows of beds. 

“Get back in your own bed, Granville, you homo.”

“N? Is my bed,” was the sleepy response. 

Another boy chimed in, “He went to pee and miscounted beds, Mose, get over yourself.”

“Gran isn’t gay, he thought Mose was his dog!”

“His momma, you mean.”

“What am I supposed to do, get out in the fuckme cold and find his bed? He probably peed it.”

I found my voice, which came out rougher than I expected. “Anyone awake enough to keep talking can fall out for calisthenics right now.”

It didn’t silence them - there were some awed grumbles- but it was quiet enough to get back to sleep. For them. I stared at the ceiling for another half hour before giving up and taking a shower. 

 

 

Next morning King approached me. Less than 3 hours sleep and no coffee had not left me in a good mood. Also, the guards at the cafeteria doors knew me and saluted. I didn’t mind being out as gay, but I wasn’t ready to be outed as the President’s son. I felt it would draw too much scrutiny to both of us. 

“What’s all this about the President bringing pizza?”

“President Loire likes pizza. And he’s interested in the youth and future of Esthar.”

King gave me a skeptical look. “He gay too?”

Pretending not to hear him, I continued, “What President Loire does not like is porn on his security cameras.” King wasn’t as dim as he looked; he went pale. “I managed to talk him out of sharing the vid with the Board of Education. You owe me, King. So no more gay jokes.”

“Yes, sir,” he managed, looking sick. It cheered me up immensely. 

Until I noticed the breakfast was oatmeal and assorted buttered muffins. 

 

***

 

I love my girls more than anything, but sometimes it’s nice to have another adult to talk to. Sure, there’s Lani and the rest of my crew, but they work for me and you have different conversations with employees than you do with friends.  
A lot of my conversations lately have been, “Do you want to remain employed?” It’s the draw back of hiring dumbass kids over the summer. Some learn something and you keep them on or snap them up next year when school lets out. Some can’t make the transition from school to job - you know, where goldbricking is a money losing deal instead of a free day off. I give them two warnings and then show them the door. Lani says it’s often two warnings too many, but I was a dumbass kid once myself.

We aren’t super chummy with the neighbors, either. It’s not the kind of area where you could scream for help and not have someone come running, but everyone works or at least is busy doing his own thing. Most of our interactions are waves and “How are ya?” shouted across the lawn.   
We kind of keep an eye on each other’s kids and property, and we all watch out for the old lady across the street, but we don’t hang out. You can borrow a rake or a cup of sugar, and there is that whole tactical understanding of “I will buy band candy from your kid and later you will buy Explorer Girl seed packets from my kid,” but I couldn’t actually tell you everyone’s name. 

Morgan knows all their pets, though. 

There was Fuu and Rai, of course, and it was always a treat to hear from them. They were the closest thing I had to extended family, and Rai’s family extended a long way - he was related to everyone on the coast from Tears Point to Island Closest to Heaven. Hell, even Lani was his great aunt. We didn’t talk often, preferring to do our catching up in person, where we could use the appropriate hand gestures. 

I guess that’s why I was so glad to have Squall back in my life. I didn’t even notice how much I looked forward to talking to him after practices and stuff until he took off on that stupid field trip. For one thing, the coach who filled in for him was the High School coach and had no idea how to treat little girls. She had at least three of the players in tears and I had to physically stop Samantha from throwing apple cores at the woman after she barked at Morgan. I found myself making mental notes to bitch at Squall about later. Not that I blamed him; the District sent her over. I knew he’d want some explanation for the Hero’s welcome he was going to get at the next game. 

I must have been thinking of Squall, because I answered the phone without checking the caller ID. 

“I am having a crisis,” a voice purred. “You must help me.”

“I’m good and causing crises, sure. What do you want, plague? War? Rain of tennis shoes?”

“Don’t be humorous while I am in despair,” Solange scolded. 

“Ok, Sol, what’s up?” I settled back in my chair. She could take forever to get to the point, which I suspected was money. When Morgan was born, she was a successful ballerina and I was a starving student, but in the ensuing years my business had taken off and I could honestly style myself as Very Comfortable. And damn lucky Jamie married her professor and got me out of paying alimony, but that was another issue. There really was no reason for Solange to continue paying child support, other than to remind her she actually had a child. 

“Arien is having knee surgery.”

“Is he ok?”

“No, Idiot, he cannot dance and is forced to have knee surgery. One does not have surgery when one is ok. Unless it is cosmetic.”

“Not a lot you can do cosmetically for a knee. It’s not an attractive part.” Arien was Solange’s long time and favorite dance partner, it made sense she’d be stressed out by the prospect of dancing with someone else. 

Solange replied tartly, “My knees are very attractive, thank you.”

“So they are. Ok, Arien is out for the season, then? Who’s his replacement?” I made a note to have the girls send Arien a card or something. He always remembered them on birthdays and Yule, even though he had no connection whatsoever with Sammy. I think it started as a subtle jibe at Solange, but Solange being Solange, it went right over her head. And Arien seemed to have learned to enjoy sending little gifts and notes. 

“Berthold. He is an oaf.”

“Uhoh. What happened?”

Indignantly, Solange said, “He nearly dropped me on my head during a fish dive! And then said I was too heavy! He called me ‘a fat cow’!” 

Although with the force of her personality, Solange appeared larger than life, she was in fact barely five feet tall and weighed about as much as a wet kitten. I could carry her on my back all day doing yard work, and had once, to settle a bet. Granted that was eight years ago, but she would have had to hit the ice cream pretty hard to be considered fat by anyone. 

“Wait,” I said. “Berthold? Bertie? Arien’s Bertie? You were dancing with Arien’s extremely jealous lover? I’m surprised he didn’t throw you for distance.”

She made a dismissive noise. “I thought he was more professional. Now I know the truth. Seifer, I cannot dance with that man, and there is no one else in the company worth bothering with.”

“What are you going to do? Take a sabbatical?”

“The last time I took a sabbatical, you got me pregnant.”

“Er...” Granted, I was single again, but I wasn’t kidding when I told Morgan I was going to swear off women. And Solange was so much woman. And trouble. With trouble sauce. 

“It is not an experience I care to repeat.”

“You can’t dance solo?” I mentally fumbled around for the ballets I’d been forced to sit through. It seemed like there were lots of parts where the girls pranced around alone.

“No, no, one cannot float without support. There are modern dances, exhibitions, but an entire ballet? Like life, there must be a man at some point, however briefly he is needed.”

“Well, Sol, you don’t want another baby and you know I can’t dance, so what did you want me to help with?” 

“It was suggested I tour, give talks and demonstrations, to inspire passion for dance in young people. I have agreed.”

“I think you’d be great at that, Solange. You love ballet.” She’d have to, to put up with the torture she went through on a daily basis. 

“Of course. I am good at everything I want to do.” Because if Solange wasn’t good at it, suddenly she didn’t want to do it anymore. Been there, quit that. “It occurred to me that impassioned young people would need schools, studios.”

“You want to open a ballet school?” It was a good idea, really. Solange was older than I was, after all. I wasn’t sure what the life span of a professional dancer was, but sooner or later her knees were bound to go out just like Arien’s. Or her ankles or toes or whatever. “You want capital?”

“You can afford it? I was thinking of using my name, doing the promotions and fund raising, leaving the dreary day to day management to staff. You are the businessman, will this work?”

“Yeah, it will, Solange. You are well known, it’s best to start now while you are hot. It won’t hurt your company’s rep any if you continue dancing a few more years, either.”

Delighted, she said, “You will do this for me?”

“After you do your homework. Give me an idea, some sketches and lists at least, of what a dance school needs. Then I can get a ball park figure for the kind of money you’ll need invested, how much it will cost to construct and all that good stuff.” Without thinking it through, I asked, “Have you considered coming to Esthar? Classic Galbadian arts are all the rage here, and they have money and space.”

“I cannot tred the boards among the hayseeds.”

“Esthar City, Solange. It’s the most technologically advanced city on the planet. Think of what you could do with fancy lighting and staging.”

“Very well, have it your way. I will capitulate and come to Esthar at your insistence.”

“Thanks, Solange.” I hung up wondering what I was thanking her for.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet such interesting people at the Fair.

Jamie sent over Sam’s costume for the Fair, and being Jamie, included one for Morgan. These were classic prairie outfits: dresses, patchwork aprons, ruffled britches and poke bonnets. At least she had enough sense not to make Morgan’s pink like Sam’s. To my astonishment, Morgan agreed to wear her green version and pose with Sam for pictures, which I dutifully shared with Jamie. Sam was adorable and determined to dress like Prairie Girl for pretty much the rest of her life. Morgan sinisterly referred to the pictures as “before”.

“Before what?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know. 

“Before I fix it. Men make women wear dresses to slow them down so they can keep up.”

“You’ve been talking to your aunt Fuu again, haven’t you?”

 

Sure enough, on the day of the Fair, Morgan appeared in jeans, boots, and a cowboy hat. The apron and ruffley things were gone, and the dress itself was runched up as a baggy shirt, held in place by one of my belts, which wrapped around her at least twice. I wasn’t sure if I had a miniature Squall or Irvine on my hands. She added the holster and guns from a play cowboy set, and the poke bonnet, which was now a pouch purse hanging from her waist. 

“You look ready to tame the wild East,” I said diplomatically. 

Sam was less impressed. “Princess Pink says a woman can be in charge and still dress pretty.”

“Oh?” Morgan admired herself in the hall mirror. “Your sister says a woman carrying a gun can dress anyway she wants.”

I blame my upbringing for what came out of my mouth next. “Can you even draw with all that poofy stuff in the way?”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “It’s a fair, Daddy. I shouldn’t have to shoot anyone.”

“Just so we are all on the same page,” I said weakly. 

I stationed the girls out front to keep an eye out for Squall while I ran across the street to fix the old lady’s automatic door opener. She’s in a wheelchair and it saves a lot of maneuvering for her to have the doors on a remote. I don’t mind lending a hand, it’s getting away afterwards that’s tricky. That old lady would talk until your ears bled, and her daughter, who was visiting for the fair, was a close second. It was high speed gossip in stereo. 

Proving he was still good at following orders, Squall arrived early, roaring up on an evil looking custom touring bike. I swear I saw little cartoon hearts busting out of Morgan the second she laid eyes on that machine. My girls greeted him with their usual jumping up and down and arm waving, which he took calmly. Squall was glancing around, and when he spotted me, I flashed the old Garden field hand signal for “Hostage situation, need assistance.”

The asshole signaled back, “Unable to comply.” 

The gesture I sent in return is too well known to need translating. I did have to wait to send it until neither the girls nor the old ladies could see it, though. 

I escaped soon after, because even gossipy old women could tell Squall needed saving from Morgan. Or at least, his motorcycle did. I clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, glad you could make it. How was the field trip?”

“Daddy,” Morgan interrupted, “If I ask Mr. Leon and he says yes, can I go for a ride on the motorcycle?”

“Mr. Leon will say no,” I predicted. 

“How do you know?”

“Because if he says yes, we won’t be friends anymore.” 

Squall shot me a look that said, ‘Are we friends now?’. We met most the criteria, we must be. It was just a little strange to say it out loud after so many years. I shrugged. 

Morgan huffed. “Will you buy me a motorcycle for my own?”

“For your fortieth birthday,” I promised. 

Samantha cut in with, “When is the parade?”

Thankful for the save, I made a show of checking my watch. “Any minute now. Come help me gather up our survival gear. Boss, get the wagon out so Squall can park his bike in the garage.” 

I know, it was cruel to leave Squall in Morgan’s clutches, but he deserved it for not backing me up on the whole motorbike issue. 

They had the red wagon out by the time I gathered the fifty million things required by little girls for a day at the fair. Sam picked up the knitted shawl and basket that completed her costume and waltzed out the door to join Squall and her sister. “The Parade, Daddy, hurry up!” 

I juggled everything else and managed to lock up. “Someone give your poor old dad a hand, here.” 

Morgan hurried over to help me, or more accurately, organize and pack things to her satisfaction. She had a lot to fit in that little wagon; I noticed Squall had decided to carry his own small cooler himself.

“You’re bringing Princess Pink?” Morgan demanded of her sister.

“Her name is Ameratha. She wants to come.” 

“I’m not lugging your doll all over the Faire,” She warned in a tone I remembered using on Squall a million years ago. It meant ‘we both know I will but this is fair warning that I intend to make you pay’. 

“I know! She fits in the basket. And Daddy will carry her for me.”

“I’m too old to play with dolls,” I said. “But you can dump her off in the wagon. Just don’t lose her, Princesses aren’t cheap, you know.”

“I hear music,” Squall offered. 

“The parade!” the girls squealed, running for the street. The warning whistle stopped them dead in their tracks.

“Stay at the end of the drive. I don’t want you girls lost in the crowd or stampeded by a brass band.”

Squall wandered down to stand with the girls, giving me time to finish packing the wagon. I joined them just as the first banner came into sight.

The Parade wandered up and down most of the main streets in town, including the one by our house. The sidewalks filled with people from other parts of town, with the tactical understanding that driveways and yards were reserved for those of us who actually lived there. Other neighbors came out into their yards, some in costume, many waving banners of their own: bright fall mainstays of leaves and nuts, grains and vegetables; some in show of support for local sports teams or businesses. 

Brilliantly smiling girls in spangled costumes twirled batons and serious looking boys carried the flag of Esthar and the local city’s emblem. Everyone bowed as the flag came abreast, one fist over his heart. They were followed by the high school band, instruments and braid gleaming in the sun. Currently they were playing an old march everyone knew the words to, and the girls loudly, if a bit inaccurately, sang along.

Next came the local beauty queen, crowned with bright leaves, flowers and berries, and dressed in Old Centran style. She was side saddle on a chocobo guided by the Harvest Prince, no doubt chosen for his ability to control the skittery animal. They were followed by her handmaidens, who threw treats to the crowds. Morgan deftly caught an apple; Samantha held up her patchwork apron and scored several nuts, some candies, and a flower. Squall stopped taking pictures long enough to help Sam affix the flower to her hat. I promised to hold the rest of the loot until later.

“Stay out of the street, can you imagine how embarrassing it will be to tell the doctor you were run over by a clown?”

There were clowns and acrobats, more musicians, jugglers, and people in costume just dancing along. Some elderly veterans in uniform marched by, trailing a surprisingly good jazz band made up of junior high kids. 

“Daddy, I see the floats!” Morgan pointed down the road. Her sister gasped and bounced up and down. 

Local businesses and organizations entered floats to promote themselves and various charities. There was a very ornate and ancient looking creation from the Church of Hyne, drawn by matching chocobos with fancy gear. Most of the rest were towed by hand, or by golf carts or, in the case of the largest float, a pickup truck with Almasy Engineering on the side. The neighborhood cheered and shouted teasing comments to me when it came into view, so I guess some of them were better at names than I. I gave the driver, my field foreman, thumbs up and he grinned back.

The float itself was for Chicabo Scouts with banners proclaiming “History is Neat!” “Embrace Your Past!” and “Old Fashioned Fun!” There was a suggestion of an old style mud clay house, a butter churn, a spinning wheel and other symbols of times long gone and largely unmissed. Riding on the float were an assortment of very little girls, all dressed in prairie dresses, and a majestic looking woman holding, of all things, a wooly lamb. 

I picked up Sam and easily swung her up over the faux wood fence acting as safety railing and onto the slow moving float. “You will stay back from the edges,” I ordered sternly.

“Yes, Daddy!”

“You will stay on the float with Mrs. Carrington until I come and get you.”

“Yes, Daddy!”

“You will have fun.”

“Yes! Daddy! Bye, Daddy! Bye-bye, Boss, Mr. Leon!” Samantha waved wildly as she inched out of view. The other little girls joined her, throwing kisses to the crowds. 

“You aren’t riding with your sister?” Squall asked Morgan, who was busy taking snapshots. 

“Hell no,” she said. “That’s Chicabo Scouts, it’s for babies. Preschoolers. Anyway, I’m not joining Chocobo Scouts. Jamie was all hot about it, she wanted to be Nest Mother and me and Sami to be Hens, but you know, it’s just glorified housework.” Morgan sighed. “The cool stuff, like building fires and hunting, is for the boys. The Cocks get all the fun.”

Squall flashed me one of those pained, ‘I dare not laugh’ looks. I would have helped him out, but I was too busy trying not to have an internal organ rupture from impacted snorfling. Finally I managed to gasp out, “Time to go.”

The parade was still passing, only more and more of the people in it were just people, dressed normally, singing and dancing with the rest. We joined the happy crowd. I kept us on the outside edge, so neither of us had our vision eclipsed by the mob, and there was room to draw a blade. Not that either of us were packing, but old habits die hard.

Morgan spotted some friends and with my blessing ran up to walk with them. A few of Squall’s students and soccer players spotted him and waved, waiting their turns to join the parade. A lot of my customers and colleges waved as well. 

“There’s an opening ceremony, but it will be done before we get there,” I told Squall. 

“You don’t mind missing it?”

“No, you can go ahead of you want, but it’s mostly old crap from the Centran times, introducing the Harvest Queen and prayers for Hyne. Bullshit to make the crops grow.”

Amused, he pointed out, “Bullshit does make the crops grow.”

“Yeah, but Hyne doesn’t give half a rat’s ass, as you well know.”

“You never were religious.”

“I figure I’m family, I don’t have to kiss his ass - either half.” I shrugged.

“How do you do it?”

I shot Squall a look. I knew he was doing one of his non sequiturs, but I played dumb anyway. “Kiss ass? I never tried it.”

He huffed a laugh. “No, you never did. I meant, how do you fit in? How do you live like a normal human?”

“Who says we aren’t? Descendant of Hyne aside, we have as much right to be here as the humans, Shumites, and Moogles. I’ll tell you a discovery I made - everyone is just as clueless as we are. There is no secret instruction book they forgot to give us, except that everyone else thinks it exists, too, and they didn’t get one either. So all you have to do is act like you know what’s going on and you’re golden.”

“Your secret to life is ‘fake it’?”

“Yep.”

We walked along while Squall chewed that over, me pulling the red wagon, Squall letting his cooler bounce against his legs. Finally he nodded. “That explains a lot. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” I said.

 

***

 

Seifer had not exaggerated; the Harvest Fair was indeed a big deal. There were far more people there than lived in the town - some from as far away as Esthar City herself. I paused by the Friends of the Fair booth to pick up some literature. It was part of my job to informally spy for Laguna, bringing him grassroots information about things communities truly needed and cared about. The popularity of the fair made it a good place to start. 

It took a punch on the arm to get my attention back on Seifer. “Going to reclaim my girls. If you get lost, meet us at the picnic grounds. We’ll be there by 11 to make sure we score the good chow.” At my nod, he let the crowd swallow him up.

The Friends of the Fair provided a map and list of events. The Fair was scheduled to last throughout the weekend, ending on Sunday with the Harvest Dance and fireworks. Today the featured events were the parade and opening ceremonies, both of which I’d successfully survived or avoided, and an afternoon of Family Fun, which included a picnic, games, and a watermelon seed spitting contest. I could hardly wait. 

I didn’t really mean my sarcasm; it was strangely fun to do things with Seifer and his family. 

But perhaps not with every other person for miles around. 

I edged past the worst of the mob, which seemed intent on simply standing like sheep in the first open space of the fairgrounds. This put me by the Harvest Fair Court. The Queen and her ladies were attractive in a painfully young, fresh scrubbed way, but none had the classic beauty of Quistis or Rinoa. The gentlemen of the Court reminded me too much of myself at that age - thin and awkward and mildly terrified. The costumes were interesting, however, and the Queen graciously agreed to be photographed. 

Seifer and family caught up with me next to a sign warning, “Danger, flying pancakes”. A nearby booth, for a nominal fee, gave you a paper chef’s hat, a cast iron skillet, and pancake batter. The idea was to flip a pancake up in the air for height and land it back in the pan. Success rate was about 25%. We stood well back while the participants, barkers, and erstwhile coaches dodged hot batter and laughed. At the other end of the booth, professional cooks neatly flipped the pancakes and sold them by the stack, smothered in butter and your choice of fruit, whipped cream, and/or syrup.   
“Daddy makes good pancakes,” Samantha offered. “But he doesn’t make them like that.”

“We have a machine, so they come out all neat.” Morgan added, “Except for the bits that spill over. We don’t have pancakes much because it’s a bitch to wash.”

“It’s just as easy to make them in the pan,” I said. “Flipping takes a little practice, though.”

I felt Seifer’s eyes on me, but when I glanced at him, he was making a show of watching the contestants. “It doesn’t look that hard. It’s all in the wrist, isn’t it?” He grinned at me. “Want to see who’s best?”  
I nearly took him up on the challenge - some habits never die. Then I remembered some other facts about our boyhood. “Are you packing Floats?”

His grin curled into a smirk. 

“Not a chance,” I said firmly. 

As a sort of peace offering, Seifer bought us all a short stack of hotcakes with blackberries; they were surprisingly good. The sales girl advised us to roll them up like burritos and eat them with our hands; she was right, that worked better than the traditional fork method. 

Keeping the girls in sight, Seifer and I ambled along, pulling the wagon and sipping coffee. Typical of little kids, they ran from booth to booth and circled back to us, demanding their father buy them nearly everything they saw. Seifer’s easy answer of “Let’s see what all is here first and shop later.” was met with agreement except when it came to hot cocoa. Seifer capitulated but after that steered us towards the exhibits and away from the midway with its noisy games and fried foods.  
“We’ll hit all that after lunch,” he said. “And the rides, too.”  
I was surprised to recognize a good number of my students and more attentive parents. Miss Rybicki was there, dressed as a lady from centuries past, arm in arm with a sour faced old woman I took to be her mother. It was pure coincidence that an interesting display of ...something was on the other side of Seifer right then, and they passed by without seeing me.

Seifer spotted someone he wanted me to meet and soon I was being introduced to “Lani Thunder, my secretary, office manager, and general slave driver.”

“You left out ‘nanny’,” she said drily, shaking my hand. Lani was easily as tall as Seifer, dark skinned like Raijin or Kiros and white haired. She was wearing a pink jogging suit and a matching backpack. 

“Squall went to school with Rai, Fuu, and me.” To me, Seifer explained, “Lani is one of Rai’s 92 thousand relatives.”

“I am one in a million, Seifer, get it right. Nice to meet you, Squall, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I blinked at her, trying to imagine what. And from whom. 

“I’d love to stay and chat, children, but I entered in the 5 mile dog jog.”

Shocked, Seifer said, “You are going to drag that poor little mop dog five miles? It will die!”

Morgan and Sam had moved behind Lani. “No, Daddy, Moppy is in the backpack!”

“Her name is Celeste. She’s a pedigree.”

“Hello Moppy!” Morgan crooned to Lani’s backpack. She was answered by a shrill yap. 

Sam added, “That’s neat, Aunt Lani, she has a little window.”

Lani turned around to show us how the back pack had been modified for the little hairy dog. It was lying on a small pillow, watching us through sunblock screening. “I bet those old bats at bridge club Celeste and I could do five miles. Each one of them has to buy me dinner if I win, plus I’m excused from bring snacks for a whole year.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s cheating, Lani.” Seifer said, laughing. 

“Phfft, they didn’t say Celeste had to walk the whole way, just that I did. I can do five miles in my sleep.” She waved and trotted off. 

“Bye, Aunt Lani! Bye bye, Moppy!” the girls called, waving. The little dog barked happily. Lani shook her head and kept going.

 

A small mud brick building caught my eye; the door and windows were covered by rusting iron bars. 

“That was the original jail, back when the town was founded.” Seifer explained. “First one in the territory or some such, historical, that’s why they left it when they razed some of the other old places to create this park.”

“Looks cramped.”

“They weren’t too into criminal rights back then. Or now, particularly.” Seifer steered the wagon and the girls over so I could get a closer look.

“Is that a bad thing?” I wondered.

Seifer laughed. “You know my philosophy - do whatever you want, but be prepared to take the lumps when they come.”

It was true; he always walked his own path, forfeiting the coveted SeeD status time and again. Xu said Seifer lacked discipline, which I knew was patently false - no one ever mastered a gunblade, or even a GF, without focus, hard work, and dedication. 

Outside the jailhouse was man dressed in an exaggerated costume of a pre-sorceress peace enforcer. He was reading a list of crimes and punishments. “Gil Wildenberg, guilty of being too sexy to remain single, sentenced to marry Starla Rosboril Tuesday, the 29th... Janeth Declouette, guilty of making addictive lasagna, sentenced to bake it again tonight...”

I could see a wooden board where, for a small fee, people could both accuse and sentence their friends. I spotted the name of a fellow teacher I liked and admired, Asa Boyce, condemned for “assigning homework over Fair Week.” It seemed he would have to read “an entire book” and write a book report by Monday, “to be read to the class.” Knowing Asa, he would do it.

The other side of the board listed “sweeps and crack downs” designed to “promote public spirit”. Crimes included “refusing to dance”, “not smiling”, and “lack of tattoo.” There was a list of charities supporting each “sweep”.

“What they do is troll the fair, and arrest you for silly crimes,” Seifer explained. “You can then go to jail and be bailed out by your friends, pay the fine yourself, or ‘reform’ by playing along.” He pointed to the ‘lack of tattoo’. “For that one, the sponsoring charity will sell you a rub on tattoo, or draw something on your arm, or rubber stamp your hand - for a donation.”  
Taking careful note of the various causes and supporters, I asked idly, “Is extortion a good way to raise awareness for your charity?”

“It’s dumb fun, Squall. People are good sports and the fines and donations rarely run more than a gil, unless you want it to.”

“Daddy got arrested last year for not having a turkey leg,” Morgan said. 

Samantha closed her eyes. “Mmmm, those were good. They had a sauce with mustard and honey and cranberries.”

“It was nasty,” Morgan told me firmly. “Never trust Lady Bug about food, she’ll eat anything.”

Together, Seifer and Samantha replied, “How will you know if you like it if you don’t try it?”

 

Drums and kazoos announced the triumphant return of the peacekeepers. Each one was wearing a ridiculous false mustache, convenient since the crime of the moment was “wasting time shaving that could be spent having fun at the fair”. I noticed a rack set up nearby with a selection of false facial hair, ranging from modest to outre.  
Since Seifer and I were both clean shaven, we ducked into one of the wooden buildings. It held exhibitions of vegetables, some of them alarmingly large. The prize winning pumpkin was big enough to seat both Morgan and Samantha. I snuck a few pictures of them, and of Seifer hovering protectively nearby. We wandered around the exhibits, making an effort to be interested in the various displays, but as Morgan pointed out, it was just like grocery shopping, only with ribbons and sawdust.

Further on were sheds with livestock - chocobos, cattle, pigs. We paused to allow Morgan to feed greens to a racing ‘bo. 

Samantha asked, “Is that boy supposed to be in there?”

“What boy?” Morgan looked around. 

Sam pointed at the Chocobo Boy, who was leaning against a wooden pillar, playing the flute.

“What boy?” Morgan repeated. 

She couldn’t see him. It never occurred to me before that he was in the realm with the GFs and other effects of magic and paramagic. 

“Just a worker,” Seifer said, steering us towards more little girl fascinating creatures such as lambs, rabbits, and baby goats. 

Once they were absorbed in discussing which type of bunny was cuter, I said carefully to Seifer, “Samantha has the gift.”

“But she’s not a sorceress, thank all that’s holy. Even so, she marries a knight and my granddaughter will be sporting a funny hat and watching out for SeeD.”

“She might only have sons. Or not marry a Descendant. Or choose not to have children at all.”

“It’s a long way down the road. But it’s something you worry about. At least when I die I know where my GFs will go.”

I never thought about it before, what would happen to Shiva when I was gone. She informed me testily that she intended to keep me alive a very long time to avoid finding out. 

 

 

Next was a petting zoo, which Seifer tried vainly to avoid. 

“Zoo, Daddy! What’s that other word?”

Morgan tried sounding it out. “Petttt-ting - petting zoo!”

“Ew, you don’t want to touch animals, do you?” Seifer said to the empty space where his daughters had been. They were racing for the entrance to the corral. He jogged after them. “What about shopping?”

“Petting zoo, Daddy!” Morgan explained.

“Or snacks? Aren’t you hungry?”

Sam pointed. “No! Look, they have baby ducks!” 

“Ducklings. How about if we come back later, after we’ve seen everything?”

“Nooo, I want to see the ducklings now. And the chicklings.”

“Chicks.” Seifer sighed, and tried one last time. “Look, over there! Princess Pink! ...On a motorcycle!”

There was a pause, and then Morgan said kindly, “If you want to go play with Mr Leon, you can just come back and get us here, later.”

“Days later,” Seifer said to me apologetically. “They will be harder to pry away than a sorceress in a hat shop.”

The supervisor was showing Samantha how to gently stroke the down on a yellow duckling. Morgan had already sat on a hay bale and gathered an armful of kittens. Having worked with kids, I was glad to see the petting zoo had enough adults handy to prevent any torturing of the animals, intentional or accidental. 

“It’s all right,” I told him. “There’s a booth selling coffee right there. I’m good.”

We sat on hay bales in the bright autumn sun and watched the kids feed vegetables to rabbits, bottles of milk to baby goats and lambs, set ducklings in a shallow pool to paddle about. The adults tried to teach them a little about what the different animals ate and their care, but I’m not sure any of the information made it past the sheer glee of touching little fuzzy creatures. 

“I can see I’m going to have to cave and get them a pet.”

“Dog?”

Seifer winced. “We’d have to leave it alone too much. I’m thinking something that won’t care, like a turtle.”

I made a noncommittal noise and he sighed. “Too bad Moombas hate me, they are cute and fuzzy and could help with housework.”

“They like me,” I pointed out. 

“Enough to do housework?”

“Probably not.”

“Maybe I could teach the turtle to drag a laundry hamper around behind it.”

 

 

Eventually we escaped and made our way to the picnic area. The day had warmed enough that the sun and jostling of the crowds were giving me a headache. Seifer was not being particularly helpful, although he did save me from being arrested by the “Faire Sentinels” for the crime of “Not wearing a silly hat”. I was fully prepared to spend the rest of the day in the cells, providing they were at least in the shade, but Seifer plunked a pirate’s hat on my head. His hat was a fabric version of the traditional helmet with horns. Morgan kept her cowboy hat but gained a spray of fall leaves and feathers. Samantha let her poke bonnet fall down her back, secured by the ribbons, in order to wear the lady bug embroidered ball cap her sister found for her. It had two pom pom lady bugs on springs that bounced as she walked. 

We were a little early for lunch but I was ready to leave the crowds behind. Seifer introduced me to the couple who were hosting the picnic - Thom and Ruth Howard and their seven children. 

“I need your expertise on the grills, Seif,” Thom said. 

“Oh no, you aren’t conning me into standing in the hot sun over open flames, no way.”

Thom threw his arm around Seifer’s shoulders, turning him towards the large metal tables where coals smoked and flamed. “Just make sure they don’t go out until the burgers are gone, ok?”

Seifer laughed. “Score us a nice spot in the shade, will you, Squall?” He dug a stack of steaks out of the cooler before ceremonially handing the little red wagon over to me.

“Where should I put our contributions?” I asked Ruth. 

She laughed. “Did he really bring potato chips?” Ruth gestured to a boy running by. “Bax, show Morgan and Sami where they can wash up, please.” When they charged off, she guided me towards a heavily laden table covered with a variety of food. “Jamie always made such a big deal out what she brought, I think Seifer deliberately goes the other way.”

“Was Jamie a good cook?”

“She always had a beautiful presentation,” Ruth said carefully. “I don’t think she ever quite grasped the casualness of cooking for a large crowd of kids. She’s here today, that’s her pumpkin dip and handmade cinnamon crackers, there.” 

She nodded to a hollowed pumpkin full of orange goop, surrounded by tiny baked cracker leaves. It was pretty. And it did look hard to eat unless one was leaning over the table cramming food into one’s head. 

I set out my own offerings, the little pear cakes with slices of pear on top, and the squash and cheese appetizers my father swore even kids would eat. They looked more in line with the casseroles, salads, and cookies I saw on the buffet. I dug out Seifer’s potato chips, noting he at least got the sturdier ruffled kind as well as a sack of the corn chips I dimly remembered Matron giving us with sandwiches. Zell always put his corn chips inside his sandwich for more ‘crunch’ when we were little. ...in fact, he still did. 

The girls returned, along with a dozen or so other children, and behind them came the adults. Feeling surrounded, I said, “I was instructed to find us a spot in the shade.”

“Go ahead and set up, I’ll get Morgan and Sami their first course and send them over to you.” Ruth had that same cheerful organizing skill as Selphie, and soon the kids were armed with paper plates and stacks of napkins.

I picked a spot under the trees lining the area, sweeping aside enough of the round hard nuts to make it comfortable. Seifer had packed a couple thick blankets and I spread them around. The crowd was growing but we would be just enough off the main pathways to have a little peace and quiet.

It was noticeably cooler in the shade, and I relaxed and idly watched a squirrel bound through the boughs. A few yards away a teenaged girl was trying to coax one of his brethren to take a carrot stick from her hand. She gave up and tossed the treat, which was quickly investigated and abandoned in favor of a cookie her companion threw. 

I glanced up to see Samantha trotting towards me, concentrating on not spilling whatever was in the two paper cups she held. I was getting up to help her when a voice called off from out of my immediate range of vision, “Samantha! What is on your head?”

Her face lit up. “Mommy!” Samantha turned towards the speaker, who came into view. 

I was slightly disappointed, for no reason I could fathom, at how attractive Jamie was. She was tall and curvaceous and had masses of long, curly brown hair. She was wearing slacks and a tent shaped sweater, heavily embroidered with autumn symbols. 

She put her hands on her hips. “Where is the hat I made you, that goes with your outfit?”

“I still have it, Mommy, see?” Sami tried to turn and show her the bonnet hanging down her back, currently acting as a holder for Princess Pink. 

“Well, take that ridiculous thing off and put your bonnet back on before you break out all in freckles.”

No hug, no fond greeting, no offer to help the child whose hands were full. Personally, I thought Sami’s little sprinkle of freckles across her nose was adorable. Sami had been delighted with her lady bug hat, too. 

‘Placemats’, I reminded myself, rolling to my feet. This is the woman who took all the placemats and left her daughter. 

Sam’s face fell. “Yes, Mommy.” She flailed a little, having no way to obey her parent at the time.

Softening her tone, Jamie said, “Well, not right this second. Come eat lunch with your stepfather and me.”

“No, I don’t like him.”

“Samantha! What a thing to say! You are just going to have to learn to like him when you move in with us.”

Taking a step back, Samantha said, “What?”

“Didn’t your father tell you? I am moving to Esthar and you are coming, too.”

I thought there was a lot more to it than that, knowing Seifer, but Samantha took her mother’s word for it. “Daddy is moving us to Esthar?”

Scoffing, Jamie said, “Of course not. Your father and Morgan will stay here.”

Sami turned white. “Leave Daddy and Boss? No!”

“Samantha, don’t be tiresome.”

“No!” She crushed one cup in agitation, spilling lemonade down her costume. Proving Sam was her father’s daughter, she threw the other cup at her mother, missing by several feet. “No, I hate you!” She burst into tears just as I got there. 

“Hey now,” I said, trying to restore peace. Sami wailed and grabbed me by the leg. 

I patted her on the head while she sobbed out, “I want my dad-deeeeee.”

Jamie gave me a flesh searing glare. “Get your hands off my daughter.”

Nevermind her daughter was clinging to me like a limpet. “She had some shocking news, give her a moment.” 

“No, no no! Daddy! I want my daddy!”

“Get your hands off my daughter, you pervert!” Jamie screamed the last two words. People were drifting over to intervene. Or watch and throw popcorn. 

I scooped Sami up and held her on one hip, possibly feeding Jamie’s delusions that I was the cause of the child’s distress. “Your daddy is grilling hamburgers, let’s go find him.” Sam threw her arms around my neck and cried into my collar. 

With a shriek, Jamie flew at me, doing that ineffectual slap scratch thing women who have no idea how to fight do. I blocked her easily with one arm, my other firmly around Samantha. The crowd murmured and the boy who threw the cookie stepped forward, judging his odds. He didn’t like them, but he was going to try never the less. I gave him points for bravery, but he was so not helping.

Morgan burst in, shoving her way between Jamie and myself. “Go away, no one likes you,” she snarled at her former stepmother.

“Morgan,” I said calmly, the exact same time Jamie snapped, “Morgan!”

Determined to defend her little sister at any cost, Morgan raised her fists. Her stance indicated she was not a slap fighter. “What did you say to her, you nasty old witch? All you ever do is make her cry!”

“Mister,” the boy said, “put the kid down.”

I tugged on Sami experimentally. She tightened her grip. I shook my head. “If someone would fetch -”

“What the hell is going on here?” Seifer plucked Sam out of my arm and deftly pushed Morgan back behind him. She didn’t intend to stay there, but I held her back with a hand on her shoulder.

“Daddy!” Sam cried harder with relief. He patted her back absently, his eyes on his ex-wife. 

Jamie spluttered. “That pervert nearly carried our daughter away! If this is how you look after your children, maybe I should get custody of Morgan, too!”

“Over your dead body,” Morgan muttered. I don’t think anyone heard her but me. 

“Hyne on the half shell, Jamie. Squall is practically my little brother. We grew up together, I’ve known him since he was in diapers.”

Key phrases, like “daddy” and “custody” and “brother” seemed to mollify the crowd. The more polite ones faded away; the ghoulishly curious lingered. I gave the cookie boy a reassuring nod, no hard feelings. He smiled shyly back. 

“That doesn’t mean it’s appropriate to have him around our daughter!”

Seifer’s eyes narrowed. “Unlike some people in my life, I know I can trust Squall.”

Jamie’s response was interrupted by Sam asking plaintively, “Do I have to move to Esthar?”

“What? Of course not, you are staying here with Boss and me.” Seifer hugged Sam and reached down to pull Morgan into an affectionate half nelson. 

“I’m not leaving my daughter behind,” Jamie snapped.

Again, I thought.

To Jamie, Seifer said, “Way to break it to her, nice going, great parenting skills.” Then he turned away, shutting the whole world out, and whispered to Samantha. “Your momma has to go to Esthar to help Professor Pete, but Boss and I will drive you up to visit and she’ll come back to town to see you, too.”

A tall, thin, older man hurried up and took Jamie’s arm. “You are making a huge scene,” he accused.

She rubbed her head and then her sides, showing that under the volume of sweater Jamie was indeed pregnant. “I need to sit down.” 

“Let’s go get some more lemonade,” I suggested to Morgan. She nodded and Seifer let her go. I waited just long enough to be sure Jamie was leaving with who I assumed was ‘Professor Pete’ before pointing out our picnic site to Seifer. He headed that way, still talking to Sam.

“That was a lot of drama,” I offered, to see if Morgan needed to talk about it. 

She shrugged. “Mothers,” she said, as if that explained everything.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things never change.

The picnic went well despite the poor beginning. Samantha was inclined to sniffle and cling to Seifer; at least Jamie - or “Professor Pete” - had enough sense to avoid us. We managed to distract Sam with lunch and with the natural resilience of children, she cheered up as she ate. Sam also gave a fairly sophisticated opinion on the various dishes, impressive for such a small child. I found myself wondering what Laguna would think of her. 

Over all, the food was surprisingly good, helped out by Seifer’s expert grilling technique. I was vain enough to note the pear cakes were among the first items to vanish, and my father’s “sure fire” squash squares soon followed. Latecomers were stuck largely with a suspicious looking carrot slaw, store bought cookies, and Jamie’s pumpkin dip to accompany their entrée choices. 

 

Morgan was much less interested in food, particularly if it was in any way exotic, and soon got restless. Seifer sent her on various errands - fetching more napkins, getting another bottle of water - but she was in a hurry to get to the games. 

 

Finally, I offered to clean up while Seifer and the girls took part in the sack race. They charged off chanting “Yay, no dishes!” and joined the other parents and kids making fools of themselves. Ruth refereed and shouted encouragement. I think she had some nominal prizes for the children, but the main point seemed to be to make the onlookers laugh until they cried. 

 

I got some good pictures. The one of Seifer going ass over teakettle I considered blowing up and sending to Zell for Yule. 

 

Thom came by and flopped on the blanket beside me. I noticed he’d waited until I was done putting everything away. 

 

“I remember you,” he started, and I couldn’t help tensing up. “You were center when the Abandons took the championship.”

 

Fame makes no sense. Still, better to be known for a sport I played in college than for being a teenaged mercenary. I relaxed enough to say, “We had a good group of guys. And our coach, Bruno Beach, was inspiring.”

 

“That why you took to coaching?”

 

“More he taught me to enjoy rugby enough to want to share it.”

 

Thom leaned back on his elbows and looked at me over the tops of his skinny glasses. Instead of normal guys getting to know each other sports talk, he said, “So, you met Jamie.”

 

“I’m going need coffee for this,” I guessed.

 

“Here, try this.” Thom handed me a flask.

 

A careful sniff revealed coffee and toffee apples. “Is this alcoholic?”

 

“Mildly.” He waited until I had the bottle to my lips to clarify, “Well, highly. But you aren't driving, are you?”

 

“I can just tell Seifer his lawyer got me drunk.” I took a hit and handed it back. 

 

“I brew it myself.”

 

“It’s good,” I managed when I could breathe again. Small towns and moonshine.

 

“Thanks. I'll send a jug home with you. So, you went to school with Seifer?”

 

“I grew up with Seifer, and yes, we went to the same school.”

 

Leaning back, arms behind his head, Thom said as casually as asking about the weather, “So, the war... is that something I'm going to need to know about?”

 

It came to me suddenly that Seifer was going to have to fight for custody of Samantha. And a court’s first instinct would be to keep a small child with her mother. Particularly if said mother brought up anything from Seifer’s past. “....yes. His records are locked and purged but it's... big.”

 

“Can you tell me?”

 

Seifer was never the type to hide from things, and Thom was his lawyer. I glanced around to make sure we were alone. “He was the Sorceress' Knight in the war."

 

Quietly, Thom asked, “What does that mean exactly in layman's terms?”

 

“He was the second in command for the Galbadian side.”

 

“Ow.” Thom took a slug and offered the flask back to me. "Who sealed his records? Your School? SeeD? Galbadia?"

 

“The former SeeD commander. He's working with the Estharian government right now to make sure the records are cleared for good here.” Or he would be as soon as I got home and called my father.

 

“If they are closed in Esthar, Jamie can't bring it up in court,” Thom mused.

 

“And if she does?”

 

“Technically the court can't give it weight, and it would also make her vulnerable to queries about how she knows. But courts can be unintentionally biased and that could do it.” He shrugged. "What do you think? Should Seifer have sole custody?"

 

“Jamie took the placemats over her daughter.”

 

Thom grinned at me. "I see you think the same way my wife and I do. Parents are a strange breed. I'd leave a lung before I left my kids. And they aren’t even mine.”

 

Trying to explain, I said, “He's an orphan.” Family isn’t something you give up on easily when you grow up without any. 

 

"Most of us are. Adel didn't leave many families intact."

 

“Seifer's made a good life for his children, and I know that he will keep them safe no matter what happens. He may have made his mistakes but he’ll make sure his kids don’t pay for them. They won't ever want for anything. The girls will continue to be bought up well and Seifer will make sure they don't make the same mistakes he did.” I shook my head. “Someone who takes placemats over her own child doesn’t deserve children.”

 

“Jamie will say she couldn't fight Seifer for Samantha, he's too big and scary. She'll say she knew he was a good father and the child would be safe with him so she broke her own heart and left her there. She'll say now she has a socially upward mobile husband and a baby on the way and she wants her baby girl. She'll cry. The judge will grant joint custody.”

 

“Samantha will suffer because of it.” I said darkly.

 

“That's my fear.” Thom got to his feet. "One thing at a time. Seifer thinks Jamie has the attention span of a mayfly and that once her new baby arrives she'll drop the contest. Sam still suffers, though - no mom or baby sib. It sucks."

 

“Seifer and I were raised in an orphanage. No mother. I didn't know I had a father until I was seventeen. Samantha will be better off without her mother.”

 

Thom paused and looked me over, then smiled. "In this particular case, I think so, too."

 

I stood up as well, preparatory to folding up the blankets and rescuing Seifer from the three legged race. "You think you can keep Samantha in her father's custody?”

 

“Jamie isn't the only one with access to sealed records.”

 

“Tch, and to think I was going to offer you them.”

 

Considering, Thom asked, “Seifer's or Jamie's?”

 

“Seifer’s.” Could I get access to Jamie’s? Should I?

 

“I would like to see those, yes.”

 

“I’ll share copies but you understand that they're sensitive documents and I don't want them getting into the wrong hands.”

 

“I'm an officer of the court and Seifer's champion.”

 

“No, Tom. You're Samantha's champion.” I admired him for that.

 

“I hope it's one and the same.” He fished out a business card for me. 

 

I glanced at it before tucking it away in my wallet. “I'll keep you updated on any progress made on his record here in Esthar. ...you know why I trust him so much, right?"

 

“Because you won?”

 

He knew. I smiled. “Yes.”

 

 

In my naivety I thought a watermelon seed spitting contest was perhaps a euphemism, but Ruth Howard lined us all up and distributed slices of melon. I was unable to fully overcome early training by Matron and actually spit in public, although it was a little easier if I aimed at Seifer. The children were better at it over all, being still in tune with the concept of playing with one’s food. Judging was casual and since the prizes were more watermelons, the whole thing was more an excuse to use up the crop than anything else. 

 

Seifer simply bought a watermelon and bowed out of the contest. “I don’t like it; it’s not the seeds I want to spit.”

 

Samantha and I quit fairly early, but Morgan inherited her father’s competitive edge and had to be lured away with promises of a football game. 

 

I volunteered to referee, mainly to allow Ruth a moment to eat her own lunch. The players were of all ages, and we were discussing how to determine which team was which, when it was suggested girls versus boys. I was about to counter suggest hats versus no hats - mainly because it’s not always easy to tell boys from girls, particularly if primary schoolers are playing. 

 

One of the older boys scoffed. “Girls can’t play football.”

 

I glanced at Morgan and nearly face palmed. She had an expression I remembered well. And dreaded. 

 

“Oh yeah? Why not?”

 

Diplomatically, another boy said, “Not so many girls like to play, you won’t get enough to make it fair.”

 

“Give me five minutes.” Morgan charged off. 

 

I used the time to organize the kids I had, establish the goals, and make sure we had a regulation ball and weren’t playing with another damn watermelon. Morgan returned with several of her rugby cohorts and a few other girls she’d talked into playing. She was also dragging her reluctant little sister along by the wrist. 

 

Finally Samantha dug in her heels. “Boss! No!”

 

“I need you on my team, Sam. Come on.”

 

“But I can’t play sports! I’m wearing a dress!”

 

Morgan paused and eyed her sister. “Take it off,” she said impatiently. Morgan had already abandoned hers, along with the guns and gun belt, hours ago.

 

Samantha opened her mouth to protest, but then spotted her mother across the green. She, too, inherited Seifer’s stubbornly defiant expression. Sam quickly set down her doll and bonnet, and then shucked off the patchwork pinafore and prairie dress. Her undershirt and bloomers left her dressed pretty much like most of the other girls. Except for the ruffles, of course. 

 

The thing about boys and girls of certain ages is... very little girls tend to be more coordinated than very little boys. And junior high school girls tend to be bigger than junior high school boys. 

 

And my little rugby players easily mopped up what was left. 

 

We played a short game, with the girls’ team winning handily, and returned to the fair in high spirits. Morgan gloated until distracted by the carousel; Seifer made the mistake of telling her about the brass ring. 

 

Samantha discovered one of the positions was a fancy seat shaped like a seashell, ‘drawn’ by a pair of seahorses, and insisted on riding there. Although it did not move like the other fixtures, Sam was content to circle in state with her doll by her side. She bestowed a queenly smile and wave on us with each circuit.

 

“Considering all the junk she’s eaten, that’s just as well,” Seifer murmured to me. 

 

For some reason, Morgan chose a chocobo on the outside, one heavily decorated with grapes and leaves motif. It wasn’t until the third revolution that we realized she had chosen it deliberately as the most likely to get her to the brass ring. The fact that Morgan was too petite to reach it was easily overcome, as when she came into view the next time she was standing on the saddle. 

 

“And now you know why I pack Floats,” Seifer groaned, covering his eyes but peeking through his fingers anyway. 

 

It didn’t matter; there was a whoop of glee and Morgan dropped gracefully back into the saddle properly, waving a golden ring at the attendant. 

 

At the end of the ride, I guarded the wagon and tried to distract Samantha while Seifer and her sister had a discussion about safety. Or so I thought. I’d forgotten, for a moment, that this was Seifer.

 

“Daddy, look, I got the ring!”

 

“Boss, it doesn’t count if you cheat.”

 

Her face fell. “I didn’t! I grabbed it. How can that be cheating?”

 

Seifer crouched down to look her in the eye. “You can’t stand up on the saddle. It’s not safe, and it’s cheating.”

 

“It was up too high! That’s not fair, I had to stand up to reach it.”

 

“Life isn’t fair, Boss, that’s why we have to be, to make up for it. You stood up in the saddle, you weren’t safe, so you can’t claim the prize.”

 

Morgan looked sadly at the cheap brass ring and sighed. “Was it a good prize?”

 

The attendant who helped kids on and off the ride ambled up. Either he hadn’t seen Morgan’s tricky feat or he didn’t care. “You got the brass ring! That’s a free ride, ready to go?”

 

Directing an agonized look at her father, Morgan waited for his decision. Seifer turned her attention to Samantha, who was busy explaining to me how Princess Pink also had a mermaid’s grotto but she rode on a skate or ray or some kind of flat flying carpet fish, her cousins would know what it was called. I nodded politely, admittedly paying more attention to Seifer and Morgan. 

 

“Can I give the free ride to my little sister?” Morgan asked. The attendant shrugged, it was all the same to him. 

 

A second ride was even more thrilling when it was because your big sister won it for you. Samantha rewarded her with a hug and declared Morgan “Best sister ever!” before she bounded back into the sea shell. Seifer ruffled Morgan’s hair.

 

“Not much point to it if the only prize is another ride,” she said with a shrug. 

 

 

We pressed onto the Midway. The Fair planners made sure there were plenty of games simple enough for children. We acquired, in short order, a pink felt hat that shed glitter, a selection of bracelets in seizure inducing colors, and an enormous plushy banana. I began to see the logic of hauling the wagon throughout the Fair. 

 

A young man dressed as some sort of woodland sprite was lounging on a log suspended over what looked like a trench full of pillows. He jumped up as we approached and launched into a spiel about defending the pass and being King - or Queen - of the log. 

 

Seifer dutifully bought tickets and the girls climbed up. They were armed with ‘quarterstaves’ of hollow poles tipped with a wad of soft spongy material. Morgan took one menacing step towards her little sister and Samantha squealed, dropped her staff, and fell off the log. 

 

While Morgan, still on the log, posed and preened, Seifer fished his youngest out of the pillow trench. “Lady Bug, I can see you won’t be slaying any dragons.”

 

“I’d have a gunblade then,” she grumbled. “Anyway, that’s the Prince’s job. ...Or yours.”

 

A few other children presented tickets. Apparently you could fight until defeated, and Morgan was the reigning champion, largely because her opponents fell off the log without any effort on her part. 

 

A boy waiting his turn commented to me, “She’s pretty good, Mr Leon, any tips?” 

 

Assuming he must have been on the road trip - he looked vaguely familiar- I felt I owed him some minor hints. “Make sure you keep your weight distributed-” I demonstrated - “so you will be more balanced. Don’t swing wild.”

 

“Hey,” Seifer said, mock indignantly, “Are you colluding with the enemy?”

 

“All’s fair in love and boffer combat,” I said serenely. 

 

My little protégé didn’t benefit too much from my advice, but he did manage to take Morgan down with him when he fell. 

 

Seifer, in full parental mode, demanded a re-do, and even offered to pay for both combatants. The sprite had no objections, so Morgan and her opponent, who I discovered was named Teo, clambered back up onto the log. They made a few feints at each other and both fell off. A generous person would concede that Teo had lasted a half second longer than Morgan; Seifer of course was no such person. He tossed more tickets at the sprite and demanded Morgan had over the boffer. 

 

Hefting it, Seifer said musingly, “No wonder you are having such trouble, this isn’t balanced for beans.” He tried the other end, frowning. 

 

“It can’t be easy to go into combat armed with a giant cotton bud,” I suggested.

 

“Yeah, but even so, you should be able to at least hold a level guard against a downward strike.” 

 

Hands on her hips, Morgan said tartly, “It’s a lot harder on the log, you know.”

 

Seifer lept up onto the log, graceful as a cat. “Not really, Boss, the balance is the same, you have to watch your foot position.”

 

“That’s a lot to remember, Daddy.” 

 

Samantha sighed, sat down on the wagon, and began to try the pink hat on her doll. 

 

“No, it’s just like sword fighting. Let me show you... Squall, get up here.”

 

I rolled my eyes but Teo cheerfully offered his cotton bud boffer. “A teacher's work is never done,” I said, joining Seifer on the log. He was right, the faux weapons were hopelessly over weighted on the ends and difficult to parry with. 

 

“See, you can do a forward lunge...” Seifer demonstrated. I casually blocked him with an inside guard. He grinned at me. 

 

He followed up with a downward sweep and a few darts, all of which I blocked. Seifer glanced down to Morgan and Teo and explained, “You just have to keep the weight from shifting on you and-”

 

The temptation was too much for me and I jabbed Seifer full in the breadbasket while he was distracted. He flailed but didn’t go down; instead he swung the boffer around in an arc and nearly took off my head. Or would have it if hadn’t been sponge and if I hadn’t been expecting that, since it was one of his signature gunblade moves. 

 

The bud was miles from a gunblade but it had the same awkwardly familiar feel and I abandoned all pretense of fighting quarterstaff style. Balancing on the log added an element of fun - I should mention it to Quistis for training at Garden. Seifer flashed his rakehell grin and met me blow for blow. 

 

This time, when I lost myself to the fight, there was no storm, no threat. Instead, it was the easy muscle memory of countless workouts with the only man who was my equal. 

 

And then: “Daddy! You are hogging the log!”

 

Reality returned. We paused and noticed the large crowd that had gathered to watch us spar. Someone started clapping and what could Seifer and I do but bow and relinquish our weapons to the waiting children. A glance at Seifer told me he was as embarrassed as I was, and we were both glad when Morgan waved away the boffer and insisted on moving to the next game. 

 

 

It was full dark before we called it a day. Local tradition was to carve pumpkins and turnips with monstrous faces and light them with candles or small fairy lights. There were plastic and metal versions of these as well. Seifer purchased one on a slender rod, lit with a glow stick, making it both safer and more eerie looking. Morgan carried the lantern balanced over her shoulder, the way her father tended to hold his gunblade. 

 

Samantha dozed in Seifer’s arms, even her lady bug antennae drooping with exhaustion. I was in charge of the heavily laden little red wagon. We wandered down the street, our path lit by numerous other glowing jack o lanterns. The night was clear and promising to be cold, not that it was any deterrent to those still at the Fair. There was a faint scent of wood smoke on the breeze, hints of autumn to come. 

 

“Come in while I throw the girls in bed,” Seifer offered. “I’ll make coffee - or would you rather have something stronger?” Thom had pressed a jug of his moonshine on us both. 

 

I shook my head. “I have the bike.”

 

“Well, you can always sleep it off on the couch.”

 

“I’ve slept on that couch. Or tried to.”

 

“Touché. Jamie was more into looks than comfort. I really should replace it with a proper ‘shh dad isn’t asleep he’s watching the game’ couch.” Seifer bounced Samantha a bit while he struggled to unlock his front door. 

 

“I thought that was a cliché.”

 

Morgan leaned against me and yawned. “No, Daddy can watch a ball game and snore at the same time. It’s a dad thing.” She yawned again. 

 

“Hey zombie girl, no telling secrets. Stagger off and brush your teeth and hit the sack.” Seifer shooed her off while I maneuvered the wagon inside. “Let me pour Sam into bed and I’ll be right back.”

 

“She’s pretty grubby, Daddy,” Morgan said doubtfully, oblivious to her own state. 

 

“Mm not,” Samantha protested sleepily. 

“Yes, which is why, come tomorrow morning, we are washing clothes, sheets, and both of you. All at once if I can.”

 

Sam yawned and snuggled her daddy’s neck. “Won’t fit in the washer.” 

 

“Showering with sheets, then!” Seifer followed Morgan down the hall. 

I took advantage of my familiarity with Seifer to find his coffee maker and get a pot brewing. 

 

“Good man,” he said on his return, setting the green glowing lantern out on the porch to help frighten off whatever it was they were supposed to frighten off. Seifer took a mug from me and flopped on the couch. “You want a fire?”

 

“No, I’m rarely cold.”

 

“Good, because I’m too damn tired to make one.”

 

I stretched and settled down beside him. We sipped coffee in companionable silence for a while. 

 

“I can’t believe you’d never had funnel cake before.” Seifer never could stay quiet for long.

 

“Will you think less of me if I admit I was expecting it to be cone shaped?”

 

“Instead of looking like a batter fried grat? I’m not too fond of it myself, but tradition.” He shrugged. 

 

“It was a very traditional day.”

 

“I guess it was. Like you read about in books, but is never close to your real life.” Forestalling any melancholy reflections, he added, “That’s why I very traditionally beat your ass.”

 

I sat up and said indignantly, “When?”

 

“Dart throw.”

 

“That was random, your balloon simply held the higher prize number!” I huffed. “And what about the water gun?”

 

“Phfft, I let you win.” Another tradition, Seifer never admitting he could lose. 

 

“On the machine gun, too?”

 

“I can’t be held accountable for the results of poorly maintained equipment.”

 

“Give it up, I beat you...” I reviewed the afternoon in my head. “Nine to six.”

 

Seifer tipped his head, counting mentally. “Fine. Your punishment is you have to take at least half of those fuckugly prizes home with you.”

 

Punishment for winning? Oh, for daring to beat Seifer. “I promised those to the girls.” What was I going to do with a purple rabbit in a bow tie, a rubber crab, a violently green pennant that said “Go Llamas”? Or any of the rest of that crap. 

 

“You are going to come help at the white elephant sale.” It was more of a prophecy than a threat.

 

“Donate to a local children’s home?”

 

“What would you have said if Matron had handed you a moth-eaten plushy parrot wearing a sombrero?”

 

I thought a moment. “Here, Selphie, this is yours?”

 

Seifer laughed. “Yeah, good point. Ok, we’ll let the girls have them and in a week, when they are bored with it all, I’ll haul it over to the Church of Hyne for their various good uses.”

 

“Landfill?”

 

“Target practice!” 

 

I was tired enough that it was on the tip of my tongue to thank Seifer for inviting me, when we were interrupted by an alarming noise from down the hall. Seifer was already on his feet by the time we heard, “Daaaaaady! Sami barfed on the covers!”

 

“I’ll let myself out,” I said, and retreated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sure Fire Squash Squares
> 
> 3 cups thinly sliced zucchini  
> 1 cup Buttermilk baking mix  
> 1/2 cup finely chopped onion  
> 1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese  
> 2 table spoons snipped parsley  
> 1/2 teaspoon salt  
> 1/2 teaspoon fresh black pepper  
> dash cayene ( I use a lot more than a dash, but I'm not cooking for kids)  
> 2 cloves garlic, finely chopped  
> 1/2 cup vegetable oil  
> 4 eggs slightly beaten
> 
> heat oven to 350. Grease oblong pan 13 x 9  
> Mix ingredients, spread in pan  
> Bake until golden brown, about 25-35 minutes  
> cut into pieces about 2 x 1
> 
> Makes 4 dozen
> 
> These are good, but very rich.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This parenting gig is tougher than it looks. Good thing Seifer has back up.

When Solange and I got married, it was a small, informal thing at the courthouse. Our witnesses were her dancing partner, Arien of the bad knees, and, because the old fashioned judge insisted our other witness be female, a random woman who was at the courthouse to pay a parking ticket. She was very nice about it, although confused as to exactly who was marrying whom. I blame Ari for that.

One of the problems, ok, one of the numerous problems with Solange and my marriage was we did not talk to one another. This is why I was surprised to discover at the party our friends threw for us after the ceremony that Sol had living kin. And I discovered it because a cute little old lady came up to me and shook my hand and told me she was Solange’s “Nana”. 

Nana and I bonded because at that point in time we both adored Solange and were both thrilled about the baby, sentiments Solange herself only shared half of. Even after Sol and I broke up, Nana kept in touch. Morgan was her first and, to my knowledge, only great grandchild, so she had a good excuse, but I think also Nana liked me a little. I hope she did, I thought she was incredible. 

Morgan doesn’t remember her great-grandmother; she was too little when the old lady passed on. There is a picture of Nana holding Morgan on my dresser, though, and I’ve explained who she was. I also kept the baby gifts Nana sent, in case Morgan ever gets to a place in her life where she wants a little history. Nana also left Morgan her wedding and engagement rings, assuming correctly that Solange would have no use for antiquated jewelry. They are in the safe deposit box at the bank, waiting for Morgan. 

The best gifts Nana gave me were common sense advice. The first thing she taught me, when I came home from the hospital with Morgan and without Solange, was The Three Nevers of Parenting: Never miss an opportunity to tell your children you love them. Never be afraid to admit you made a mistake. Never let the kids turn the family into a democracy. 

I added one of my own, later: Never feed a baby anything you don’t want to deal with later. 

But there is no helpful advice that prepares a father for when the phone rings in the middle of the day and it’s the school. 

“Seifer,” Squall said, “Don’t panic. I think it’s just a broken arm.”

“How did you break your arm?”

“Not me, Morgan.”

Refusing to deal with the alternative, I said, “How the hell did Morgan break your arm?”

He sighed. “Meet us at the clinic.”

Fortunately Squall hung up then, so I could have my nervous collapse in private. I tried various scenarios in my head and decided there was no way Squall could have deliberately broken my daughter’s arm. Or, in all fairness, stopped her from breaking it herself doing something crazy. Not without throwing a spell, anyway.

I pulled myself together and flew out of the office, babbling something incoherent to Lani. She calmly assured me she would pick Samantha up from preschool and meet us where ever. 

At the clinic, my eyes went straight to the little girl hunched up in the bright orange plastic bucket chair, but Squall intercepted me first. I did a double take, it always throws me to see him in normal clothes instead of black leather. Or at least a rugby kit.

“I cast Scan in the car on the way over,” Squall said quietly. “It’s a simple break, no internal damage or head trauma. They want to do an xray, of course, but they won’t make a move without a guardian’s permission.” 

“That would be me.”

“Or her mother?”

“No, Jamie. But I should change that.” No point in using Lani, if I wasn’t available odds were she wouldn’t be, either. Fuu and Rai were too far away. Inspiration struck. “You mind if I name you?” I dodged a nurse and beelined for my little girl. 

“I wish you already had,” Squall said, following. He looked exasperated, which was one up on me, because I think I’d’ve stabbed anyone who refused to help a little kid on account of paperwork. 

Morgan had been trying to be brave but gave it up when she saw me. “Hey,” I said, trying not to blub myself. “How does the other guy look?”

She gave me a watery smile. “I fell off the jungle gym.”

Mock incredulously, I said, “You? How?” How high were those things? Ten feet? Twelve? 

“It was further to the swings than I thought.”

“You tried to jump for it?” That’s my girl. Fearless and stupid. She got the fearless from me. Ok, the stupid, too. “I see we need to work on calculating trajectories.”

“The ground was lava,” Squall explained. 

“A serious flaw in a playground, I can see that.”

Morgan gave a sniffly giggle, which heartened me enough that I could be nearly polite to the admin who thrust a clipboard in my hands. I couldn’t help snarling, as I signed things, “Good thing she wasn’t spurting arterial blood.” 

“Yes,” she agreed. “That takes another six forms at least. The doctor will be with you in a moment.”

It was a damn sight longer than a moment; there was enough time for Morgan to finish snotting up Squall’s handkerchief and start on sogging up mine. I held her in my lap and redesigned the school yard in my head. Then I redesigned the budget, because I work at City Hall and I know how these things go.

Squall paced around, but returned just in time with a box of paper tissues. I rocked Morgan and made soothing nonsense sounds; she cried and Squall talked randomly about the stray cat he’d finally coaxed into his apartment. It was enough to distract my little cat lover some, and I could have hugged him for it.

“He likes you now, Mr. Leon?”

“He likes the cat food. He’s starting to look a little fat.”

“What’s his name?”

Before Squall could ruin the moment by admitting, as I knew he would, that he called the cat something inspired like ‘Cat’, I said, “I thought its name was ‘Duck’.”

“Duck is a silly name, Daddy.” Morgan squirmed to get comfortable, jostled her arm, and took a ragged breath, tearing up again. 

I tried singing a song they taught her in preschool. “Be kind to your web footed friends, for a duck may be somebody’s mother...” Squall joined in, which was fortunate, because I couldn’t remember the rest of the words. I supposed they teach silly songs to Primary School teachers. 

After a short ice age a nurse dressed in a rainbow smock came up and smiled at Morgan. “I heard you got quite a bump. Let’s go show the doctor.” She held out her hand. “You are a big girl, can you walk?”

“I’ll carry her,” I said the same time Morgan snapped, highly offended, “I can walk!”

I stood, still holding Morgan. “I gotcha, Baby.”

“Not a baby!”

“Seifer...” Squall tried.

“Which way?” I asked the nurse. Morgan was struggling so I set her carefully on her feet, but kept my arm around her.

The nurse shook her head. “Sorry, Dad, you need to wait here. This is for patients only.” 

“What? No, I’m coming with.”

“You can wait right over there,” The nurse pointed. “We’ll keep you informed.”

“I’m going with Morgan. Why can’t I go with my daughter?”

“No,” the nurse said, “You aren’t. We’ve found the children are calmer without a parent present.”

Indignant, I said, “That’s a crock!”

“Seifer,” Squall said sharply. He glanced at Morgan and when I followed his gaze I felt like a total heel. She was tearing up again, and all I was doing was delaying medical attention and causing her stress. 

“Hollar for me if they do anything you don’t like,” I commanded Morgan. 

“Oh, I will,” she promised grimly. 

With almost identical steering maneuvers, Squall lead me back into the horrible orange bucket chair and the nurse guided Morgan away.

“What the hell? Is it legal for them not to let a parent be present?”

“Seifer...” Squall rubbed his scar, tiredly. “Sometimes the parent caused the damage. They need to be able to talk to the child privately.”

I was back on my feet without realizing it. “They don’t think - they can’t - who would do something like that?”

“Sit down.” 

I ran my hands through my hair but obeyed. Once I was seated, Squall explained, “No one thinks you hurt Morgan - half the school saw her jump for the swingset and miss. But they have protocols and procedures they have to follow.”

“I can’t believe any parent would break bones on his kid. Not deliberately.”

“It happens,” Squall said tightly. 

Of course, he was a teacher, he saw a lot more kids than I did. From a wide variety of backgrounds. “They train you about this stuff? What to look for and all that?”

He nodded. “Who else sees the child nearly every day?”

“Have you ever..? What do you do?”

Squall shrugged. “Talk to the child. Tell the principal your suspicions, let the authorities investigate.”

“Suspicions? What if you are sure?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up and I felt oddly reassured. 

“Call me if you need back up,” I told Squall. “I have a blanket and I’m sure I can find an axe handle in the garage.”

“Shovel.”

“Right, we can bury the evidence.”

The point is, we sounded like we were kidding but we weren’t. I was perfectly comfortable with taking a shovel to anyone who deliberately hurt little kids. Maybe it was our combat orientated mercenary upbringing, but I honestly think if you showed me a parent who didn’t, in their heart of hearts, think hitting a child abuser with a blunt object was a great idea and I’d show you someone who had an even better plan. Probably involving grats and hot sauce. 

Morgan reappeared, in a red, blue and yellow wheelchair, pushed by a volunteer in a candy striped pinnie. “We’re going to Imaging!”

I started to get up, but Squall tugged me back down into the chair. “No.”

“But they talked to her,” I said plaintively. “Why can’t I go this time?” Morgan vanished down the hall, the Candy Striper making vroom-vroom noises as they went. 

“Because they have to manipulate her arm to get a good image and if it hurts her you will punch the technician through a wall and slow the whole process up tremendously.”

He knows me so well. I slouched forward in the chair and buried my face in my hands. There is nothing worse than feeling helpless when your kid is hurting. 

Squall squeezed my shoulder. Very softly, so we could not be overheard, he said, “I couldn’t cast - scan isn’t clear enough to ensure it would set correctly.”

Oh, yeah, there is a worse feeling. Knowing your kid is hurting and knowing you could magic the pain away... but shouldn’t. 

Sitting up so I could bang my head against the wall a few times, I said, “You know you can’t cast risk casting, people freak over magic here.”

“I’m not concerned-”

“I know, I know. Trust me. If it were life or death, fuck them and their petty prejudices.” The last thing I wanted right now was to piss Squall off. I needed him to keep me sane. “But really, you know you can’t cast on kids, it can screw them up.”

“That’s what Kadowaki always said, but then, she wasn’t junctioned, either.” Squall shrugged. 

“No, I did a little research. A slow acting spell, like Regen is ok, or you can rub a little hi-potion on them, but too much can jack with a child’s ability to grow and heal naturally.”

“You are packing Regens.”

“Did you look? That is just rude, checking out a guy’s spells. Yeah, I will cast once we are home.”

“Don’t.”

When I stared at him, Squall explained, “Half the school saw Morgan fall, Seifer. Having her suddenly get well would raise a ton of questions, as you just pointed out. You will have to bring her back for a follow up and the doctor will be able to tell she was magically cured. If they do their job properly here - no reason to assume they won’t - Morgan will be fine without it.” Squall frowned. “Does she know you can heal her?”

“No, she’s never needed it, thank Hyne.” The last time Morgan was suffering she was teething, and there really is no spell that helps cutting teeth as much as a frozen banana. 

“Then you really will do best by listening to Kadowaki and letting her heal naturally.”

Yes, this is what Hell will feel like. I sighed and changed the subject. “Are you on the clock? Who is dealing with your class?”

“No, I only came in to do some paperwork for the team. Our last game is tomorrow.”

“Hyne on the halfshell. Morgan is going to fling a ringtailed fit if she can’t play.”

“She can’t play. I can’t let a child whose arm was broken less than 24 hours previously play rugby, no matter what state her arm is in by game time.”

“She’s going to be heartbroken. Talk about kicking someone when they are down.” I banged my head against the wall a few more times.

“If Morgan feels up to it, have her dress in the kit and she can sit on the bench and we’ll have all the girls sign her cast - assuming they put her in a cast.”

“Otherwise I can find an autograph book someplace tomorrow morning. Morgan has been talking about the party, after. Did the District budget you in? ...did they give you both gil or only one and a half?”

“I forget you work at City Hall,” Squall said with a huff of a laugh. 

“I only know the school budget because I peeked, it’s not really my bailiwick. So what’s the plan?”

“Several parents with unrealistic expectations wanted trophies.”

I winced. I couldn’t attend the meetings - they weren’t scheduled at good times for me or my babysitter. “But they had no intention of paying for said trophies, I bet.”

Squall shook his head. “The whole idea, at this age level, is to encourage a love of the game and engender the idea that sports are fun. I feel trophies and such puts too much emphasis on who won.” I nodded, so he continued, “We decided on participation ribbons in the team colors, with the girl’s names on them.”

“You decided, and no one had the balls to disagree. But I’m on your side, it’s special enough to thrill the girls, no one is left out, and you don’t have to find room on the mantel for it. Go you.”

“It was more expensive than I anticipated. I was thinking some cupcakes and juice after the game-”

And pay for it himself, no doubt. And eat noodles for a month, based on the average substitute teacher’s pay. Yes, I knew what that was. If you are going to peek at the School Budget, you may as well peek at the whole damn thing. 

“Tell you what, I’ll spring for the party. About 20 girls, right? Allow for parents and sibs - say 80 people total? I can get the party room at MacMoogles, they owe me a favor, we did some emergency work for them.” It was hilarious, actually, the new exhaust fan in the kitchen was so powerful when they switched it on, you couldn’t get the front door open because of the suction.

“MacMoogles?” Squall sounded faintly horrified. 

“Haven’t you seen the commercials with the moogle in the kilt?” I didn’t really deserve that blank stare, sheesh. “It’s very kid friendly and their pizza is actually pretty good. And they don’t serve beer, so you don’t have to worry about anyone getting too loaded to drive home.”

“Is that a problem at your usual parties?”

“I hang out with politicians and construction workers, hell yes it’s a problem.”

“All right, I’ll give you what’s left of the budget after I pick up the ribbons. Based on game attendance I’d expect more like 40 people, tops.”

“More will come if there is free pizza. I’ll tell MacMoogles 60, we can always send the extra pizza home with the girls, or have them bake more.” I called the restaurant while I was thinking of it, and was scolded by the manager for last minute arrangements before she relented and admitted that yes, the party room was available. She cheered up considerably when I gave her my credit card numbers.

Morgan trundled by again, looking pale. The nurse stopped and told me cheerfully, “Good clean break, she won’t need surgery.” 

“Surgery? Why would she need surgery?” I was having flashbacks to poor little Samantha, all tubes and needles and Hyne knew what. 

The nurse explained, “Sometimes the doctor needs to put some screws or a metal plate in.”

I groped for Squall’s arm and he patted my hand, slightly amused by my flailing. 

“Morgan will need a cast, however. And we’ll send home some instructions and pain killers.” 

I nodded dumbly. After the nurse was gone, I scrubbed my face with my hands. “They must think I’m a nut.”

“I’m sure they are reassured that Morgan has someone competent who cares for her.”

“I look competent?”

Squall shook his head. “I meant me.”

My response, which was going to include affectionate name calling, was interrupted by a shriek from Morgan. I didn’t even realize I was on my feet and half way to the exam room, intent on charging to the rescue of my baby girl, until Squall body checked me. 

“Sit down,” he hissed. “And power down, Hyne.”

I tried another step forward but Squall is stronger than he looks. He forced me backwards and slammed me down into the horrible orange chair. 

“Dismiss the spell,” Squall’s voice was low and dangerous, his hand still tight on my shoulder, keeping me in place, his body blocking me from view. “Seifer, what are you going to do, Firaga the clinic? They have oxygen tanks in here!” 

I stared at my hand and the spell ball glowing there. Hyne, Hyperion was in her case back home so naturally I pulled an attack spell without any conscious thought. I forced the paramagic back down, helped by Squall’s calm - if annoyed - manner.

And the fact that Morgan’s shriek was quickly followed by “No! Not pink!”

“Hyne on the half shell,” I managed finally. 

“Casts must come in colors. Don’t forget to bring a pen so her friends can sign it.”

“Yeah...” I blinked at Squall. “If, Hyne forbid, this ever happens again, you are conscripted to come with.”

“Of course,” he said, like it was a foregone conclusion. 

“I mean it. I would be arrested six times already if you weren’t here.” It’s not like Solange would be any help; she’d be in a snit over having her afternoon commandeered. Jamie would faint on the floor and then blame the kid for getting hurt. Squall was definitely the best choice. 

My phone rang; as soon as I answered it Lani said “Talk to your daughter.”

What now? I thought. “Lady Bug, are you giving Aunt Lani trouble?”

Tearful and furious, Samantha said, “No!” 

“What? What’s going on?”

In the background, Lani said, “Sami won’t get out of the car. She fought like a wildcat.”

“She took me to the doctors, Daddy! I’m not going to get a shot! I’m not!” That last trailed off to sob. 

“Baby girl, I wouldn’t pull a dirty trick like that on you. And neither would Aunt Lani.” Where do kids get these ideas? Had Jamie tried that stunt? I wouldn’t put it past her. 

“Then why did she bring me here?”

Shit, I hadn’t thought about explaining it to Sam. “Boss fell off the monkey bars at school-”

Another shriek, this time from my little one. There was a clatter, and Lani shouting “Samantha! Get back here!’

There was a siren like wail as forty pounds of drama charged across the parking lot and into the clinic. Lani was in hot pursuit, but Samantha made it all the way to my side before she could catch up. Sam grabbed my leg and wailed, “Is Boss gunna die?”

Ah yes, that’s what my day was missing. Hysterics. 

“Little Miss is going to have an entirely different reason to cry in one red hot minute,” Lani grumbled.

I picked Sam up. “Sami, you are being mean to Aunt Lani and all she’s trying to do is help you and keep you safe. Apologize.”

“But Bosssss!”

“Morgan will be fine,” Squall said in his ‘don’t question me’ voice. I need one of those. 

Samantha sniffled and offered, “Sorry Aunt Lani.” There more to it, about shots and her sister dying, but Lani nodded and drew Squall to the side so she could get the whole story. 

“What happened?” Sami asked me. “Will she walk again?”

“I need to talk to your Aunt Lani about letting you watch soap operas with her.” I set Sami back on her feet and crouched down to talk to her. “Boss broke her arm but she will be all right.” I used some of the paper tissues to clean Samantha up. “She tried a tricky feat on the monkey bars, fell off and got hurt. That’s why we tell you kids to be careful all the time.”

Scoffing, Sami said, “Not me.” It was true; my little one was born with a much greater sense of self-preservation than her older sister. 

“Anyway, there will be no hospital bed, no ‘round the clock nursing staff, no coma, none of the nonsense from Aunt Lani’s ‘stories’, all right? They will put a cast on Boss’ arm and she’ll feel like her old self in a day or two.” I hoped. 

“What’s a cast? Is it bad? Does it hurt?”

“It’s like a turtle’s shell; it’s hard to protect the bits underneath. Once her arm is healed, they’ll take it back off.”

The Candy Striper wheeled Morgan out and Sami ran to her side while a nurse ambushed me with forms and pamphlets and prescriptions. “Oh, Boss, does it hurt a lot?”

“Nope,” Morgan said, far too cheerfully. They must have given her something for the pain. “But look, team colors! They tried to give me pink.”

“It’s all green like a turtle shell! That’s neato. But isn’t there supposed to be blue?”

“Yeah, but the doctor said blue was too dark to draw on. You can draw on it!”

“Oooh, I want one!’

“No, you don’t,” Squall said authoritatively. He and Lani drifted over to provide adult supervision. For the girls or me, I wasn’t sure. 

I left them discussing how best to decorate the cast to have a mini meeting with the doctor. He was terrifying for such a cheerful SOB - listing all the possible side effects and consequences with unholy glee. Once he’d reduced me to mental shambles, he patted my shoulder, said “She’ll be fine. Try not to let the cast get wet for 48 hours.” and vanished back into his secret room to torture another parent.

Slightly shell shocked, I stumbled back to the others. Lani took one look at me and usurped Squall as commander of the situation. She snatched the paperwork out of my hands and riffled through it quickly, handing about half back to me. “I’ll take care of filing the insurance papers, closing up the shop and picking up the prescriptions.” Lani turned to Squall. “You take Samantha and fetch take out dinner for us all.” To me, she added, “Take Morgan home and put her to bed.”

Squall and I saluted and Lani rolled her eyes before striding off. I reached for my wallet again but Squall shook his head He held out his hand for Sam. “Do you like WuTai?”

“Yes!” she said, taking his hand and skipping along beside him. 

“I don’t,” Morgan grumbled. “What’s wrong with pizza?”

“You are having pizza tomorrow, MacMoogles, for the team party,” I informed her.

She lit up. “Yay!”

May as well get it all over with at once. “We will go to the game if you feel up to it, Boss, but Mr. Leon can’t let you play with a busted wing.”

“But that’s not fair!”

I suppose a better parent would take the opportunity to drive home the fact that she wouldn’t be in this spot if she hadn’t tried to fly from the jungle gym to the top of the swings. She would counter with the fact that no one ever said not to, which I was sure was the case. I was equally sure they would be saying it now, however. 

“I know, Boss, it stinks. But consider, the doctor said you can’t get the cast wet for two days, so that means no bath. If you got all grubby playing rugby, you’d have to sit in your dirt for days.” Seeing that my logic was not quite having the desired effect, I added quickly, “MacMoogles won’t serve filthy little girls. You’d have to skip the party.”

Love of rugby warred with love of MacMoogles. I tipped the scale a little with “Mr. Leon has prizes.” 

“Ok,” Morgan capitulated. “But I’m not going to bed, it’s hours ‘til bedtime.”

I swear I didn’t whimper, but the candy striper pushing Morgan’s wheelchair gave me a funny look anyway.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A typical day in the Almasy household.

Samantha liked any Wu Tai dish that was fun to say and didn’t involve tentacles, which she referred to as “wigglies”. After being blithely assured nearly every choice on the menu was Yum!” I was rescued, if you could call it that, by an elderly woman coming from the kitchen. 

“Lady Sam! Where is Sister?” She fixed me with an unfriendly glare. “And Father?”

“Hi Mrs Bo! Boss tried to fly because the ground was lava so they had to give her a turtle shell but Daddy says she’ll walk again. Do you have the cookies with the moons? I want those!”

The old lady nodded and looked me over like she was considering calling the police. “Who is this?”

“Oh, this is Uncle Mr Leon, Daddy saw his diapers. Are there the little sea monsters in the red stuff? Aunt Lani likes those.”

I tried translating. “Old family friend. Morgan broke her arm; her father took her home to bed. Do you have any suggestions?” I tried to look friendly and non-threatening, but I’ve been told I’m not good at it. 

Mrs Bo seemed to decide that even if I were a kidnapper, the child still had to eat, and she relented enough to start scooping food into little boxes. “Firecracker Shrimp, that’s what Lani Thunder likes. Father wants chicken with almonds, yes?”

“I know he doesn’t care for shellfish.”

“Daddy hates fishy food unless Uncle Rai makes it and even then he sneaks a lot to me. He wants the rice with all the stuff in it, me too. Boss likes the boring one. Do you have the bowties? And spring rolls. Everybody likes those. No wigglies, no one likes them.”

The old lady filled containers, nodding to Samantha but largely ignoring her requests. She glanced up at me and asked, “Does Uncle eat shellfish?”

After Garden chow and weird Laguna catered state dinners, I could eat anything, but I suspected it would not be politic to phrase it that way. “I love shellfish.”

Mrs Bo added black pepper crab to the menu, then filled a container with egg drop soup. “For Sister, with plain rice and a little of the ginger pears, good for upset stomach.” 

I didn’t point out that she had a broken arm, not the ‘flu, because it was perfectly possible the painkillers they had given Morgan would upset her stomach. Samantha demanded a taste of the pears and we ended up doubling the order.

I parked next to a candy apple red sports car in Seifer’s driveway; a beautiful machine with entirely too much power for the local winding, mountainous roads. 

“Aunt Lani is here!” Samantha chirped, squirming out of the seat restraints and grabbing the bag of fortune cookies. “C’mon, I’m starved.”

I struggled in with the rest of our enormous order - Samantha held the door for me, at least - and was greeted by ferocious yapping from a what looked like an elderly woman’s wig draped over a child’s footstool. What it lacked in size and dignity it made up in volume. 

“Moppy!” Delighted, Samantha let go of the door to pet the dog, nearly slamming me and the multitude of small slightly greasy containers back out onto the porch. Fortunately Seifer’s secretary came up to relieve me of half of the boxes. A sharp command from her and the dog silenced, contenting itself to sniff eagerly at my boots. 

“Morgan wanted a fire so we are eating in the den. Seifer said you drank cola but I brewed a pot of tea, too. Any trouble with the Old Dragon?” Lani shooed both Sam and Moppy towards the back of the house.

“Mrs Bo? She seemed to know Samantha well.”

“She’s an old running buddy of mine, that’s why. Mean as a one eyed alley cat, but you can’t beat her as a partner in Duplicate Bridge. Couple of young thugs broke into her place last summer - she just watched them, cool as you please, and kept on jointing chickens. Oddly, they left without taking a thing.” 

I mentally added a butcher knife to that thousand year stare and understood why the thieves chose discretion over valor. 

Seifer greeted us with a jovial “Hey!” and a double take. “Did you leave anything for the other people?”

“You know you won’t have time to cook tomorrow,” Lani said. I nodded like that had been my thought, too. 

“Reheated Wu Tai, breakfast of champions,” Seifer agreed. 

Morgan, ensconced on the couch in a pile of blankets and pillows, graced me with a regal nod before returning to the important task of bossing her father. “Aunt Lani can sit with me and Mr Leon can have the easy chair but you and Sam will have to sit on the floor.”

“With Moppy?” Seifer pretended to protest. “Why can’t Squall sit on the floor?”

“Teachers can’t sit on the floor!”

“They can when the easy chair is too far away from the food,” I said firmly, setting out my share of the burden.

“We don’t have five placemats,” Sam moaned.

“Use a beach towel,” Morgan commanded. “It will soak up spills and we can shake out the rest in the back yard.”

Seifer looked impressed. “What was in that shot? It’s making you smarter. That’s a pretty good idea.” 

She scoffed. “We did it at Aunt Fuu’s.”

“Yes, but there was an actual beach involved.”

“We will do without and make an effort not to glue the take out boxes to the coffee table with sweet and sour sauce,” Lani said. “Sit down, I’m famished.”

We obediently settled down to eat. Seifer sat on the floor next Morgan to help her; Samantha and I were logically left on opposite side of the coffee table, which unfortunately put us closer to the roaring fire. Moppy stayed close by, eyeing me but correctly assuming Sami was the best choice for mooching. 

Seifer coaxed some egg flower soup into Morgan while Sam investigated every little white box. She agreed with me that the crab was excellent but informed her father’s doting secretary that “Your sea monsters are too hot!” 

The firecracker shrimp weren’t the only things that were too hot. True to his element of choice, Seifer built a fire that could melt teeth enamel. The heat, coupled with the stress of dealing with Morgan before her father showed up, was giving me a thumping headache. 

I started my day with school bureaucracy. I wanted to try coaching basketball over the winter months but was having to fight for gym time with the gymnastics and wrestling teams. King had penciled in the gym for nearly every day for wrestling practice, which was insane at the primary school level. When he showed up in the office I was debating whether I should use blackmail to get 2 days a week or if I should leave it for the future and a sport I cared more about. 

All that went right out of my mind when I realized he was carrying Morgan Almasy. In his usual sympathetic manner, King was saying “Don’t snivel like a wuss, you aren’t going to die. We’re going to call your mom to come get you.”

I think if he’d said that to any other clearly distressed seven year old child I would have punched him, but Morgan, true to her Almasy blood, scrubbed away the tears and snapped “Put me down right now or I’ll kick you in the ouchie ouchie!” 

“Morgan?” 

“Mr Leon, save me! Don’t let them call Solange!” She squirmed away from King, who looked glad to let her go. 

Miss Bloom, the school nurse, intercepted and tried to coax Morgan to sit down. “What’s your name, Sweetie? Who is Solange? And it will be all right, your mom won’t be angry.”

“My mom won’t give a dead grat and I’m not going to tell you anything. I want my Daddy!” That became a wail and Morgan burst into tears. 

King, the coward, said cheerfully, “All in good hands, then. I need to get back and get the playground under control before they all start trying to fly off the monkey bars.” He sprinted for the door. 

The principal, Mrs Tegaten, crouched down beside Morgan. “Is your daddy at home, Sweetie? Tell me your name so I can call him.”

“I think we should just call the ambulance,” Nurse Bloom said. “Her arm looks broken to me.”

“Was she one of your rugby players, Mr Leon? Do you know what class she’s in?” Tegaten asked. “Her teacher, anything?”

“I think Nash, first grade. She’s Morgan Almasy; her father, Seifer, has sole custody. I have his number on my phone.”

“See if he can come take her to the clinic. The last time we called the ambulance it took over an hour to get here.”

I must have looked disapproving, because Bloom explained, “Town can only afford one, so they prioritize.” She draped a blanket around Morgan, who was looking miserable. 

“He works on the other side of town. I’ll get his permission to take Morgan myself, it will be quicker.” I took out my phone and hit speed dial. “Seifer? Don’t panic. I think it’s just a broken arm.”

I had forgotten how upsetting dealing with an injured child could be. Considering it was his daughter, Seifer held it together much better than I did - at least now that we were out of the clinic. But then, Seifer was always a showman and excelled at hiding his feelings when he wanted to. 

He was currently trying to get Morgan to laugh by making up outrageous fortunes for the fortune cookies. “A tall dark stranger is coming to eat your socks. No?” Seifer tried another. “She who eats too fast gets soy sauce in her hair.”

Morgan shook her head. She was cranky; whatever pain killers they had given her at the clinic were wearing off, she clearly was not as fond of WuTai as her sister, and she was frustrated by her inability to use chopsticks. I hadn’t realized that Morgan, like Seifer, tended to use her left hand for fine motor control. Naturally it was her left arm that was broken and the cast would take some getting used to. 

Seifer tried again. “There is an elephant hiding under your bed.”  
Sam giggled. “It wouldn’t fit!” 

“Nothing will fit under your bed; you have so much stuff crammed under there. I bet that’s where my cowboy boots went. Slob.”

“Hey!” Her younger sister said indignantly. “You clean by throwing your stuff on my bed!”

“Hey!” Seifer said, louder and more sharply. “Am I going to have to fling kids in the car and drive around until I can find gypsies? I’ll trade you both for a chicken.”

“Would that be a chicken each or half a chicken per child?” I asked, in the spirit of the moment. 

“Two grumpy little girls for one chicken. My final offer.”

“I’m not grumpy!” Sam protested.

“I’ve never even seen gypsies,” Morgan mused.

“That’s because the last batch of little girls were so bad the gypsies moved away to hide.” Lani put in, reaching for a bow tie. “They took back their chicken, too.”

“So if we are really bad, Daddy can’t get rid of us?” Samantha had a frighteningly logical mind. 

Seifer’s expression was priceless, but he recovered quickly. “No, if you were really bad, your Aunt Fuu would come and kick my ankles off for being a crummy father and raising horrible little girls not even worth a chicken.”

“Half a chicken,” I corrected helpfully.

“We won’t ever be that bad, Daddy, don’t worry,” Morgan soothed. Sam nodded.

Lani picked up a fortune cookie and tried her hand at improving the printed fortune. “This fortune is intended only as a guideline and not as a guarantee of actual good luck. Furthermore it is of purely decorative nature and is not meant to be consumed as part of the cookie.”

Seifer laughed but Morgan asked, “What does that mean?”

“You aren’t supposed to eat the slip of paper, just the cookie,” I explained.

“Oh, they aren’t that bad,” Sam said confidently. “Where did the spring rolls go?”

Seifer and Lani’s phones both rang at once. I helped Sam search the various containers while they dealt with what sounded like a field truck on its way back from a jobsite hitting a deer. Or perhaps the deer had hit them, it wasn’t clear. 

Morgan asked anxiously, “Is the deer ok?” 

It seemed to be still alive, at least, because Seifer said “Veterinarian?” the same time Lani said “Venison!” I decided to distract Morgan with the ginger pears, which could be eaten with a spoon.

“Daddy, the deer!”

“Here are the spring rolls! I knew we had lots. You want a spring roll, Boss?”

“Shut up,” Morgan snapped. “I don’t want spring rolls, I don’t want this stuff,” she pushed the ginger pears away. “I want to know about the deer! Leave me alone!”

“Wow, you are a grouch.” Samantha rocked back on her heels, clutching the spring rolls protectively.

“Shut up! Shut up up up!”

“Daddy!”

“I am on the phone,” Seifer said calmly. “Do not interrupt unless there is blood, smoke, flames, sparks or flood.” Turning back to his phone he asked in tones of horror, “Deer ticks?”

Lani was making notes on a napkin. “But where on Lostass Road? Is there a Ranger Station nearby? A Lunar Cry Emergency Pod? Anything?”

“Sami, come show me where your dad keeps the leftovers containers and we can start cleaning some of this up.” I needed to get away from the heat of the fire and keep the girls from fighting and amping my headache up to unendurable. 

Samantha grumbled her way into the blessedly cooler kitchen, muttering about mean sisters and lack of plum sauce and how she should just change her name to Cinderella. She did help me locate a selection of small plastic containers with lids - “Rot boxes, because we just leave things in them to go bad so we can throw them away” - and we ferried in the remains of the WuTai to be reorganized. I was about halfway through when Morgan informed me that Seifer just dumped it all together on a paper plate to be reheated and I was wasting my time trying to keep the dishes separate. 

Lacking experience with pets, I didn’t realize that Moppy had gotten into the trash bag until he started worrying a packet of soy sauce. Or finished worrying it, rather, as it burst and splashed on his white beard and Seifer’s formerly light green floor. Moppy’s reaction to suddenly having his mouth full of the soy sauce was to bark furiously; Samantha’s at having her white socks speckled with dark brown was equally as loud. Morgan bellowed again for her to “Shut up!”

I rubbed my scar and wondered if I could cast Silence on Angelo or if he was considered a party member and therefore immune. Rinoa and Selphie fighting in the background weren’t helping matters. I opened my eyes and there was Seifer, entirely too close.

I reached for my gunblade but for some reason Lionheart wasn’t in his junction. I fell back, looking for other weapons, pulling Rinoa behind me. A knife rack caught my eye and an I lunged for it without even questioning its presence. Seifer, always fast, blocked me while Rinoa, a consistently poor tactician, ran off. At least Angelo went with her. 

“Squall,” Seifer said in his I-am-older-and-therefore-always-right voice, “You are way over heated. Go outside, I’ll bring you something cool to drink.”

That was so unlike the speech I was expecting, I stopped and blinked at him. He was right, sweat was dripping off my bangs and my head felt like it was going to explode. Even impaired as I was, something told me this was no place for a fight, but I held my ground. “Rinoa?”

“Will be fine. I swear it.”

I nodded and turned to jerk the door open and stumble out into the darkness. 

The autumn night was cool, with a damp bite to it. Too warm for Trabia and too lush for the desert. I gulped air and realized I was again staring at Seifer’s backyard, his barbeque and the girls’ swing set. I sat down abruptly on patio steps. 

Seifer slipped quietly out and handed me a cold can of pop. He sat down carefully beside me and pointed with his drink towards a small building in the back part of his yard. “Jamie’s craft house. Has her kiln and whatall. I was thinking of making it a playhouse for the girls until they are old enough to use the stuff, but Sam won’t go near it. She’s convinced the kiln will blow up and kill us all.” 

I gulped some of the icy soda, letting Seifer’s words and the chill night air wash over me. 

“I was thinking of junking all that and making it over into a little gym. The girls get rambunctious during the rainy season, and I’m getting fat with my sedentary job.”

I managed a scoffing noise.

“Oh, sure, it’s all very well for you, Mr Coachnjock, but it isn’t easy for me to sneak off for a proper work out. I’m lucky to get in a game of racquet ball now and then.” He sighed dramatically. I suspected I knew where Sam got at least half her theatrics. “But rubber floor, some jump ropes, maybe a trampoline for the girls, some free weights, maybe a treadmill - what do you think?”

Aware that Seifer was just talking to talk, I ignored him. “Is everything all right in there?”

“Oh, sure. Deer got up and bounded off for parts unknown, probably just stunned. The truck, however, requires towing. Morgan is thrilled. Our crew and the insurance agent, less so.”

I held the can against my forehead, letting the cool aluminum sooth away my embarrassment and frustration that Seifer never actually answered the question I asked. “I should go.”

“No, drink your soda, you need to hydrate. You get used to keeping the place warm when you have babies; I didn’t realize how damn hot it was in there.”

“Seifer, you know good and well there is more than me just getting overheated.”

“No harm, no foul.”

I stared at him. “I was reaching for my gunblade!”

“I know,” he said with a grin. “I’ve seen that move a few times before. But I knew you didn’t have your hyperjunction with.”

I cradled my head in my hands. “Wasn’t Samantha there? I could have hurt her.”

“Point of fact you were protecting her from me. Which she didn’t need.”

“I know that,” I muttered. 

“Thank you.” Seifer lounged on the concrete beside me, stretching out his long legs. “So let’s review. You had a craptastic day, got overheated to the point of making yourself sick, and flashed a little which resulted in … absolutely nothing, although Sam did ask who Rinoa was. I said you called her the wrong name because she, Morgan, and Mopster were making so much noise you couldn’t hear yourself think.”

“And that’s it?”

“And that’s it.” Seifer sipped his own soda. “Unless you want there to be more.”

“I don’t want to be a danger to my students.”

“Offhand I can’t think of a situation where a little kid would strike your subconscious as a threat. You might want to avoid teaching at the Senior High School and Collegiate levels until you get things worked out, however. Not that taking a gunblade to couple of them wouldn’t improve society.”

“I’m not sure it can be worked out.” I said bitterly.

Seifer shrugged. “Maybe not. You and I know Time Kompression never ends. So part of us will always be there.” He looked out at the dark yard. “Trapped there.” He sighed. 

Seifer and I have so much history. Lately we were professionals and, I think, friends. Before we had been, not enemies exactly, but adversaries, and before that, rivals. But way back, when we’d been very little and still at the Orphanage, Seifer and I had been brothers. Feeling very young and small, I asked, “How do you handle it?”

“It’s easier for me. I have the girls. I wake up from a particularly horrible memory dream and I know I’m still in Her castle, for eternity. But I’m also here, in my bed, with pictures of little girls on my dresser, sharp doll shoes lurking in the carpet, and a shit ton of laundry to do. And never, at any point where She touched me, in my wildest dreams, did I think this is where I would be in ten years. So there is that.”

“I didn’t even think I’d be alive,” I confessed. 

“And assuming you lived?”

“You’re right, I never would have envisioned myself teaching in a public school in Esthar. Coaching little girls in rugby. Cooking with my father. It wasn’t even imaginable.”

“That’s how you know it’s real. ‘I couldn’t make this shit up in a million years’ I tell myself. Then I get up and do laundry. It’s therapeutic.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Sort out the reds and wash everything on the permapress setting.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “We good here?”

“You don’t mind that I’m fucked up?”

Seifer gave me a long level look, then shook his head. “What you need to remember, Squall... the things we had to do, the choices we were forced to make... you’d have to be one sorry soulless son of a bitch for all that not to leave a few scars. Wear ‘em proud, you earned them.”

I almost protested that the others didn’t seem to have any issues, that Zell and Quis never woke up screaming - at least, not in my hearing. But it hit me that Seifer had said ‘we’. The decisions we made, because we were the leaders, the commanders, the ones who chose who lived and who went on the suicide runs. Another thing I shared with Seifer and no one else. 

He sipped his soda, letting me brood. I finally managed, “Are the girls ok?”

“Oh, sure. Lani is in there telling them lies about her years as a freebooter. ...At least, I hope they are lies.”

“Then we are good.” Oddly, we were.

“Great, I am freezing my ass off. Come make a pot of your world’s famous coffee.”

Marveling at the whimsy of the world, I did as I was bid.

 

****

 

Morgan fell asleep on the couch, next to the fire, and I decided not to move her. Sami wanted to sleep with her sister, so she snuggled in so they were sleeping head to toe. I have no explanation as to why I grabbed a blanket and spent the night in the easy chair. Some half-baked bullshit about keeping an eye on the fire, or Morgan being drugged and in unfamiliar sleeping spot, but it comes down to the plain fact that I didn’t want to leave my girls. Soon they’d be too old to have Dad hovering. 

When I pried myself out of the easy chair, my back informed me that Dad was too old for this crap already. 

I found several little plastic rot boxes and dumped the contents together on a paper plate to reheat. That’s the advantage of Wu Tai, you can mix and match. At least Squall sorted out the sea monsters so I didn’t have to pick them out.  
I had just gotten the coffee going when I heard the tv come on in the den and the jaunty theme to Sam’s favorite cartoon filled the room. 

“We overslept,” Morgan said accusingly when I peeked in to wish them good morning. She was leaning against her sister, her bad arm propped protectively against her chest. She looked rumpled and hung over and I wasn’t sure if it was cute or horrific. “That’s The New Adventures of Mr Adorable Catt, if we don’t have breakfast done before it’s over we’ll be late for the game!”

“Do you even feel like going, Boss?”

I got a scathing look. Good thing breakfast was already nuking away. 

The girls ate quickly and stumbled off to wash up and get dressed. I made a half assed attempt to deal with the kitchen, meaning I threw our plates away and tried to figure out what that brown stuff on the floor was. I was on my second cup of coffee and halfway convinced that whatever it was, it wasn’t going to draw ants and could therefore be safely ignored for a while when the rest of the world woke up and started clamoring for my attention.

First the doctor called to check on Morgan, a nice gesture, I thought. He went over the nightmare inducing things to look for and rang off, happy to have instilled fear once again. 

Lani dropped by a large scarf for Morgan to use as a sling. It was some soft fabric in shades of blues and greens, with stylized white turtles stamped all over it. 

“You will never get this back, you know.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “I have closets full of stuff like that, no one knows what to buy an old maiden aunt.”

“Jiu Jitsu lessons?” I guessed. 

“That’s why you are my favorite, Seifer. Here are some pictures of the truck; I’ve already sent copies to the insurance company. The crew kit bashed parts and Aeric managed to get the truck back to the shop before it died for good.”

Chuffed that I didn’t have to pay for a tow and double over time for my crew to stand around waiting on it, I was ready for a summons to the girl’s bedroom to deal with a crisis. 

“I can’t brush my stupid hair! Take this thing off, it’s in the way.”

“A busted wing takes some getting used to, Boss. You have to leave it on for now. I’ll do your hair.”

“You can’t braid for beans, Daddy.”

It was true, somehow her hair always slithered out of my hands and she ended up looking like a badly frayed rope. 

“I can do it!” Sam said loyally. “I brush Princess Pink’s all the time.” She did have one of those creepy disembodied almost life sized doll heads with long hair to mess with. Well, technically it was a poorly thought out gift from Jamie to Morgan, but she was just as aghast as I was. It hadn’t helped that Fuu asked if it came with a pike.

“You can’t braid either, you’re too little.”

“But I can brush it, and you can wear my headband. Tell her, Daddy, I can do it.”

“Let your sister help you, Boss,” I said as the ‘phone rang again. 

It was Squall checking on Morgan and confirming directions to MacMoogles. 

“I thought I should get a handout printed up quickly for the parents.”

“Good idea. They have a map on their web site but not everyone in town knows MacMoogles. Tell them to be there at 2, that will give them time to scrub the mud off the girls.”

We didn’t talk long because I had to remind Sam that her sister wasn’t well and she should be nice to her. Sam’s indignant reply was interrupted by the phone ringing again.

First it was MacMoogle’s confirming our reservations, followed by my field foreman, Aeric, explaining in detail why it wasn’t his fault they hit a deer. Or the deer hit them. Or something. I eventually managed to reassure him that I wasn’t pissed and hung up. 

Just in time for Morgan to holler, “Daddy! Make Sami stop being nice to me!”

I opened my mouth to make the standard fatherly reply and I swear the world held its breath. 

I almost said it, too. Can you imagine what a can of worms I would have opened by yelling down the hall “Samantha, stop being nice to your sister!”? That would still be coming back to bite my ass on their wedding days. And long after. 

“How about someone is nice to her poor old dad?” I countered, peeking into their room. 

Sami was trying to help Morgan on with her uniform, but the long sleeve wouldn’t go over the cast. 

“No, it hurts, stop it!” Morgan shoved her sister away.

Sami turned immediately to me to protest. “Daddy!”

“Ok, Lady Bug. Nice job on the hair, but let me take over now, ok? You need to get your own gear on.”

Sami flounced over to her dresser and started rooting around.

“I’m lucky I still have hair,” Morgan grumbled ungratefully.

She probably was. I’d never seen her look so neat. “I think we are going to have to cut the sleeve to get it over the cast, Boss.”

“No! Don’t cut up my uniform!”

“If you want to wear it, we have to cut the sleeve.”

“Will you buy me a new one after?”

“Boss, it’s the last game of the year.” I headed for my office to hunt for scissors. 

“But I didn’t wreck it, you did, so you owe me!”

I was saved from kid logic by my cell phone bursting into “Old McDonald Had a Farm”.

“Why did a teacher have to take Morgan to the clinic yesterday?” Jamie managed to make it sound like not only was it my fault Morgan needed to go, but also that I was scum for not taking her myself.

“Because she was at school when she broke her arm.”

Jamie scoffed. “I’m sure you managed to convince them all of that.”

“The several dozen witnesses managed to convince me, and that’s all that matters.”

“I hope you intend to sue them.” 

“The school barely has any money as is, why would I do that? It’s not like anyone threw her off the jungle gym.”

“Really, Seifer, you have no sense of responsibility. You weren’t even there!” Jamie was never entirely derailed from a stupid idea. She just changed tracks and kept steamin’ along.

Despite my knowing better than to rise to the bait, I snapped, “I was at work! Where the hell else would a grown man be in the middle of the day?”

“They are supposed to provide adult supervision and they failed. Someone needs to pay.”

From down the hall, I could hear quibbling. I rolled my eyes and said with forced cheerfulness, “And if it were Samantha whose arm was broken, I would be giving a grat’s ass about your opinion. But, as you were fond of reminding me, Morgan is not your child and you wouldn’t see a gil either way.”

She sighed and said abruptly, “I want Samantha on Family Day. ...Morgan can come, too.”

“Better make your reservation quick. Turtle Bay Inn fills up fast and we both know Fuu won’t put you up.”

“Could you just this once not go to Turtle Bay for Family Day?”

That didn’t even rate consideration. “No. The girls expect it, it’s tradition.”

“They are too little for traditions.”

“We’ve gone every year of their lives!”

“So Samantha has been 3 times, not counting her in utero visit. And I would be astonished if she remembers even one of them.”

“She remembers her aunt and uncle and cousins and is excited about seeing them again. This is not negotiable, Jamie.” Funny that Jamie had no objection last year.

“They are not her aunt and uncle and cousins. They are an unruly clan of people you met at school. I am her mother, I want my baby girl with me on Family Day. Why do you have to make everything so difficult? You can take Morgan!”

One thing I fought Jamie on, long and hard from day one, was her tendency to make a difference between Morgan and Samantha. I my mind, they were sisters and that was that. In Jamie’s mind, they were half-sisters and she felt accuracy was more important than family unity. Well, obviously family unity wasn’t a big deal with her, or she wouldn’t have gone seeking new beds. 

“I am not splitting up the girls on Family Day of all the Hynebedamned holidays, so you can just get over your nesting urge and cope.”

“Let me remind you that it is illegal for you to refuse me visitation!”

“I didn’t refuse you visitation. You can hie your ass up to Turtle Bay and visit all you want.” Not technically true as we both knew Jamie would be taking her life in her hands to get within 100 feet of Fuujin. But if she made the effort I could call Fuu off. Probably. 

“I have joint custody, you know!”

“Ooh,” I purred, “does that mean Professor Prick is going to kick in a little child support? Because we both know you can’t hold down a job.” Not that I’d take his gil. I can support my family just fine, thanks. 

Jamie launched into a rant which, I admit, I would have largely ignored even on a good day. But this time, I heard behind me in the hallway, an anguished whisper.

“Daddy and Mommy are fighting because of me.”

That made me say, a bit more harshly than I intended, “You are the one who left this family, Jamie. You deal with the consequences.” I hung up.

Sami was standing behind me, her eyes full of tears. She was sucking her thumb, something she only did when very stressed out - by her mother. Morgan, her rugby shirt half on, one arm in a cast, stood beside her, her good arm wrapped protectively around her little sister’s shoulders. They were both watching me intently. 

I scrubbed my hands through my hair and crouched down so I was eye level with Sam. “You heard me and your mother?”

She nodded. “Don’t fight ‘cuz of me!”

“Baby, anything you love is worth fighting for.” I pulled her into my arms for a hug. I reached for Morgan, too, but she gasped and stepped back. Then Morgan, my little rock, burst into tears and ran back to their room. 

What the hell? I was supposed to have another good eight years before Morgan got all moody and weird on me. I blinked down at Sami, who sniffled. “Is Boss mad at me? I didn’t mean to!”

“I don’t know, Lady Bug. Maybe her broken arm is hurting. Why don’t you go draw her a ‘get well’ picture and I’ll talk to her, all right?”

Sami nodded and sniffled a few more times before heading to the crayon stash in the den. The girls kept art supplies handy because they liked to draw and color while watching tv. 

I girded my mental loins and went to find out what was up with my eldest. Maybe the meds were making her funny. I sure hoped it wasn’t her arm - visions of screws and plates and surgery danced unpleasantly before my eyes. Time to dig out a Regen.

Morgan had stopped crying - she never did cry much and always seemed infuriated by it when she did. She was sitting on her bed, glaring at nothing I could ascertain. 

I sat on the bed beside her. “You ok?”

“Yes.” Fierce whisper, no eye contact.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No. Yes! Did you mean it? About fighting for what you love?”

Puzzled, I said, “Yes, I did. I mean, there are different ways of fi-”

Morgan interrupted with “So Solange doesn’t love me at all.”

Parental instinct told me this was neither the time nor place to explain egocentric monomania and Solange’s inability to love anything that wasn’t Solange or ballet. “Because we don’t fight over you when we talk?” I guessed.

She nodded. “I don’t care, but-”

But she did care. Every kid wants her parents to love her. Goddamn Solange and her selfishness. Goddamn Jamie and her special brand of crazy, too. And goddamn me and my spectacularly crappy taste in women. 

“Hey, you’ve seen me fight. You honestly think your mother can beat me?”

Startled, Morgan blinked at me, mouth hanging open. 

“I beat her fair and square way before Sam was born.”

A slow, crooked grin of delight spread over Morgan’s face. “So you both love me but ...Solange is a good loser?”

“Yeah, she plays nice.” 

“And Jamie is a sore loser.”

Technically, Jamie hadn’t lost yet, but I didn’t want to upset the applecart by mentioning that. I shrugged and nodded. 

“But Mr Leon beat you.”

“But we were play fighting, so it doesn’t count.” 

She thought that over, then nodded. “We’re going to be late for the game.”

“Hey, Sam and I are not the ones with a shirt only halfway on.”

With a martyred expression, Morgan held out the sleeve for me to cut. She watched me operate and then said, “Wait, you’ll have to do that for my school clothes, too, won’t you?” Her eyes glittered.

Dammit, we would.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many ways to be a hero, but most of them start with "I can help".

Nothing prepared me for being greeted in the restaurant foyer by animatronic moogles in kilts line dancing. I slowed to a stop, staring. Seifer ambled up and nudged me, grinning. 

“The little red puffs...”

“I know, it’s like a train wreck with deelie bobbers. Inside they have a barbershop quartet singing the Kupo Nut Song.” 

Inside the dining room there was, indeed, a barber shop quartet of robotic moogles that would sing a variety of old standards for a gil. If no selections were made, they fell back to the Kupo Nut Song, which they sang every twenty minutes or so. After the second rendition, my opinion of patience and fortitude of the serving staff went up considerably. So did their tip. 

MacMoogles’ true attraction for children was not the musical robots but the Playroom - a segregated area filled with video games, air-filled platforms for bouncing, ball pits, a rock climbing practice wall, and various other attractions. A profusion of closed circuit television screens allowed parents to watch their children from afar. 

“They have a nice layer of soundproofing off the Playroom,” Seifer explained. “You can sit in here and linger over your pizza and still keep an eye on your kids without losing your hearing or will to live.” 

I pointed to the barber shop quartet. 

Without skipping a beat, Seifer continued, “On the other hand, the noise isn’t that bad and there are some decent games in there. And it’s soundproof.”

The employee uniform was a ball cap with a red ball on a bouncy wire, mimicking the moogle’s signature look, and a tartan apron pleated to look like a kilt. I discovered when Seifer paused to chat with the Hostess that the establishment sold them to the public. I bought Laguna both, and a tee shirt with a drawing of the barbershop quartet with musical notes over their heads for Ellone. 

Seifer pocketed a roll of tickets and we made our way to the Banquet Room, which was thankfully far enough away from the crooning robot moogles that we wouldn’t hear them. The doors were topped by a green and blue banner saying “Go Rascals!” and bracketed by life sized drawings of blue and green raccoons in rugby kits.

“We have a team mascot?”

“Do now. Chantelle, the owner, is artsy, it was her idea. I suspect I will have to buy a raccoon to join the rest of Boss’s collection on her bed.”

The Banquet Room itself held several long picnic style tables and numerous benches and chairs. There were bunches of balloons and crepe paper streamers in team colors. I was impressed that instead of a soda pop dispensing center, there were large glass urns of ice, water, and fruit slices. The spigots were low enough the girls could help themselves, and they were enticed by the flavors. I spotted strawberry, apple, citrus, and what looked like blueberry cantaloupe. 

A goodly amount of my players and their families were already assembled. Everyone was in high spirits. We won our last game despite threatening weather and one of our best players being benched. Morgan made up for her lack of playing by coaching, although it consisted mostly of shouting encouragements and the occasional “Run, Stupid!” She confessed to me later that what she really wanted to do was referee “Because you get to run the whole time and everybody has to listen to you!” I agreed it sounded like an ideal job for her. 

I was more attached to Morgan and her little sister than I should be, but not so much that I couldn’t recognize that Morgan was not destined to be a rugby player for long. She was a natural athlete, blessed with stamina and good hand and eye coordination, and that along with her competitive nature and fearlessness guaranteed Morgan would do well in any sport she tried. But she didn’t love the game nearly as much as she loved getting filthy and running roughshod over her opponents. Not that I expected a lifetime commitment from six and seven year olds, but a few of the team had clearly been more interested in the sport itself. I was mildly disappointed that my number one fan, Darla Rakes, wasn’t there. 

This had been my first attempt at coaching small children through an entire season. Granted, it was an abbreviated season as the School District wanted the primary level children moved to indoor activities before the weather turned. They also claimed that small children couldn’t sustain interest for months on end, but I suspect it was the parents who couldn’t handle the investment. 

Parents were the real challenge. The ones who weren’t interested caused their daughters to have sporadic attendance and many lost their initial enthusiasm and stopped coming at all. Some were too interested and took every penalty, loss or mistake personally. I had to ban one father for screaming profanity at a six year old for not passing the ball to his daughter. In between was a core group of good people who chauffeured van loads of little girls to and from games, helped with the scoring, filled in as line judges, and cheered indiscriminately for the players. 

I was as pleased to see them in the Banquet Room as I was to see the girls. 

The Almaseys had arrived at the game a little late, and everyone was in a hurry to get cleaned up for the party after, so there had been no time for the team and team moms to fully investigate why Morgan had her arm in a sling. We walked in on her holding court, explaining.

“...landed bad on my arm and it broke. Daddy showed me with lines and arrows and ‘bounce to the ounce’ and math and stuff you can’t jump from the jungle gym to the swing set, so don’t try it. Not because the teachers say no but because the numbers say you can’t and numbers never lie.” Morgan sighed. “And if you do try you’ll break your arm.”

“Did it hurt?” One child asked.

“It hurt so bad I couldn’t even cry. Tears and snot just jumped out of my face.”

“I’ve been hurt like that,” I murmured to Seifer. 

“Me too,” he said, crossing his legs. 

“But the cast is cool, it’s green and you can sign it!” Morgan held up a permanent marker and was mobbed. 

Seifer winced and craned his head, trying to see over the mass of little girls to make sure Morgan wasn’t being unduly jostled. We had already spotted Sam, who was singing “Itsy Bitsy Spider” to a baby in a carry. She finished up and skipped over to her father, taking his hand. 

“That’s Sara Sunflower’s new brother Bryn. He’s not a pretty baby, but we have hopes that maybe he’s smart.”

Diplomatically Seifer said, “They always look better once they get hair and teeth. You hungry?”

I moved off to speak with the other parents and to do a head count. People were still drifting in. The Playroom monitors showed a few girls trying a sort of child sized hamster trail, complete with tubes and a slide that decanted them into a pit of balls. The rock climbing wall was on the far side of the pit, near the bounce platform, so if a child fell from either side she would have a soft, safe landing. 

An overly tanned man wearing a frighteningly yellow golf sweater grabbed my hand and shook it. The Look still worked because he let go immediately after. “Vonn Whipsaw, Malon is my daughter.”

I had to check my notes. “Malon Whipsaw only attended one practice, and she was ten minutes late. And she left early. I’ve never seen her since.”

“She’s over there,” Whipsaw said, indicating a slightly chubby girl with brown braids who was waiting her turn to sign Morgan’s cast. “When are you handing out the awards? I tee off in 40 minutes.”

Some of my thoughts must have shown on my face because Whipsaw backed up, holding up his hands defensively. “But hey, anything for the kid, no rush.” He trotted off to examine the pizza selection. 

Ansetta’s mother, Dulce, patted my arm. “Ignore Vonn, he’s been a chocobo’s ass since 6th grade. His whole life, actually. Come meet my husband, Grant. Note he can’t make a game but can make the pizza party.” 

Grant apologized with a sheepish grin but I felt he had a valid excuse, as he was a Peace Enforcer and had been in the field in the north for the last several weeks. “Don’t worry about it. We appreciate your service.”

“Do they make all you public employees say stuff like that?” He asked lightly. 

It was more the spirit of been there, done that, plus a little of my father, but I said, “I went to a military school.”

“Ew, ‘nuff said. Have some pizza, man, you have years of bad food to recover from.”

The food was laid out buffet style: a small salad bar everyone was ignoring in favor of the pizza. The mainstay was basic cheese and sauce, which appealed to the less adventurous children like Morgan. MacMoogle’s had classics like pepperoni, combination, and vegetarian, and a local aberration: bacon and apple. There was a window to the kitchen where one could request a specialty pizza or a drink other than flavored water. I was trying the surprisingly palatable blueberry cantaloupe, but I noticed Seifer was drinking coffee.

The girls circuited from pizza to water to playroom to parent and back, with occasional detours to me or other families they knew. Morgan bounded up to show off her heavily decorated cast. Sami had demanded to be the first to sign it the night before, and once she laboriously scribed her name, her father drew a little lady bug next to it. Not to be outdone, Lani added a tiny turtle. That forced me to attempt my lion and Seifer to add 3-D shading to “Daddy”. Here at the party one of the more artistic team moms drew “Rascal the Raccoon” and a sleeping cat, both to Morgan’s total delight. Nearly all the rest of available space was taken up with smiley faces, crooked flowers with loopy petals, and names of her friends and teammates. 

“You know what the best thing about little girls is,”Seifer murmured to me after I’d admired her cast and Morgan had run off to claim more pizza. 

“They aren’t little boys?”

“Got it in one. And little girls don’t draw dicks on everything.”

A memory surfaced. “They don’t always draw dicks. Irvine used to draw boobs, too.”

Seifer laughed. “Since you can’t possibly remember the Orphanage I assume he was still doing it during the war.”

I could remember the Orphanage, bits and pieces at least, although Seifer seemed to have a more complete grasp of our past. I chalked that up to Time Compression and said “A major source of interest for him then and now.”

Some team moms came up, to thank us both for the party and to flirt with Seifer. I could see the logic - he was good looking, successful, a devoted father, and unlike me, Seifer flirted back. He smirked and flourished under the attention, becoming the annoying golden bastard I remembered from our youth. I wasn’t the only one who noticed Seifer was getting more than his fair share of attention from the ladies - Morgan finally stomped up and grabbed her father by the hand. “You promised to play Dancey Dance with me!” 

“Sorry, prior commitment,” Seifer said suavely to us, allowing his daughter to drag him away. The team cougars turned to me, but I have years of practice avoiding conversations I don’t want to have. Anyway, some of the girls had found Morgan’s sharpies and were drawing on their own arms. I thought it best I let them know they were using permanent markers before they moved to decorating each other’s faces. 

Seifer returned to the banquet room fairly quickly, pausing in the doorway until he spotted both Samantha (carefully mixing and tasting the fruit waters) and me. He nodded and stacked a variety of pizza slices on a plate, which he brought to me. I must have been getting peckish because standing there, sharing the plate with Seifer, soothed my irritation. I was even able to be polite when one of the single moms snapped our picture. 

Continually scanning the room was an old SeeD training habit that served me well as a teacher and Seifer as the father of two active and precocious girls. He glanced at the monitors and took off for the Playroom. I saw him snatch Morgan off the rock wall before she got more than a few feet off the ground. There was a short discussion, with Morgan pointing to the ball pit and the hamster tubes, and Seifer vetoing each. He eventually got across to her the dangers of jolting a newly broken arm and Morgan followed her father back into the dining room, still protesting. 

“It doesn’t even hardly hurt!”

“If you want something to hurt, I can grant that wish right now,” Seifer warned. 

Morgan huffed and stalked off to sit with some of her friends. Seifer helped Samantha get some of the pasta salad - she was the only one under the age of 20 I saw try it - and they sat at a table in the corner, where Seifer could see the whole room, both doors, and the monitors. 

He took my spot. 

I toured the room, chatting with parents and players and sampling the food. The apple bacon pizza was surprisingly good - I would have to recommend the combination to Laguna. I happened to be near Morgan’s table when a slightly older boy decided to monopolize the water dispensers. Samantha was trying to refill her cup, but whichever flavor she went for, he moved in the way. 

“Okay,” Morgan said wearily, “Who brought the loser?”

“My mom said we had to let Dyl come. He’s suffering from infantile regression due to insecurities caused by fear of replacement.” We all stared at the speaker, Sara Sunflower, who sighed and translated for her friends, “He’s acting like a baby because he’s jealous of our new little brother.”

Samantha tried to dodge around Dyl Sunflower and he nudged her aside with an elbow to the upper arm. She stumbled a little, then pushed him back and planted herself in front of the strawberry water spigot. He let her get the cup three quarters full, then he leaned over and hit the bottom of it, splashing water all over Sami.

I glanced over to Seifer, who was watching with narrowed eyes, but not yet making a move to intervene. Morgan, however, had enough. She swung her legs over the bench, preparatory to standing, saying, “He’s going to be crying like a baby in one red hot minute.”

Sara grabbed her hand. “Oh Boss, if you punch him again Mom won’t let me invite you to my birthday party!”

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” Morgan said, pulling away. 

Samantha turned on Dyl and threw the rest of her cup in his face. He reacted by shoving Sami hard enough that she fell on her rear and started crying. 

Sensing the scene was about to escalate to ugly, I blew my whistle and pointed at Dly Sunflower. 

“Yellow card!” some of my girls chanted, remember our talk on penalties and playing safely and fairly. “Ten minutes in the sin bin!”

That seemed to be Mrs Sunflower’s plan, as she swooped in on her errant son and pulled him aside for a scolding. Seifer and Morgan converged on Samantha and all three vanished into the Playroom. A teen in kilt and deelie bopper hat arrived with a mop and the situation was handled and forgotten. 

Seifer returned after a short while and Dyl, seated with his mother and baby brother, waved at him in what I suspected was an attempt at reconciliation. He smiled, nodded, and sat next to me. Still smiling Seifer commented, “Little shit, thinks he can bully my girl. I could teach him the true facts of Bully, I’m an expert, I have a hynebedamned PhD in Bully.”

“I thought you’d outgrown that.”

“The urge to push faces? Naw, you outgrow actually doing it but the urge, the need and desire lives on.”

Amused, I said, “He’s all of eight years old.”

“And thanks to your timely intervention, may live to see nine.” 

“You would seriously take on a little boy?”

“Me?” Seifer laughed. “You are barking up the wrong Almasy, Pal.” He tipped his head towards the monitor, where Morgan was dominating a dancing game. “She inherited my temper but hasn’t outgrown the face pushing yet.”

“I don’t envy you the teen years.”

“I have a plan. Monastery.”

“Don’t you mean Nunnery?”

“I don’t think they’d let me stay in one of those.”

Samantha had been playing some simple game appropriate for her age level and she won a prize. She came skipping back into the Banquet room to show off her collection of sparkly rainbow stickers. Seifer helped her stick one to the back of her hand where she could admire it. 

“Isn’t it beautiful, Uncle Mr Leon?”

“The colors are very pretty.”

“Rainbows are the best things ever. I’m going to be a rainbow when I grow up!”

With laudable seriousness, her father asked, “Does that gig pay well enough to keep you in placemats, Lady Bug?”

“I don’t know. How much do they charge now?”

“I think they do it for free.”

“Well!” Samantha tossed her head. “We’ll just have to work on that.” She marched off to get more flavored water. 

“Did my daughter just threaten to unionize rainbows?”

“What surprises me is that it was Samantha and not Morgan.”

“Boss has no time for rainbows. She’d organize the squirrels in the park, though.”

The girls were slowing down on the pizza. Seifer circulated, handing out tickets for the various games, and most of the kids moved to the playroom. That gave the staff a chance to do a little damage control and me the opportunity to sort through the ribbons. 

“They’ll bring out Mrs Moogle’s cake for dessert, they make a good one here - lots of fresh fruit and sweet cream.”

In the relative quiet I heard the low rumble of thunder. One of the servers confirmed that the storm had hit and it was raining “buckets and barrels”. It didn’t really matter now, the season was over and the fields could be as sodden as a marsh. I was glad I’d brought my “coaching” vehicle, the SUV, instead of my bike. 

A gasp drew our attention. In the doorway from the main room stood a little girl, completely soaked to the skin. Her hair was plastered down and her teeth were chattering. She didn’t even have a coat or sweater. “Too late!” She started crying.

Seifer and several other parents got to their feet, but I was faster. “Darla?” I put my arm around her and led her into the room. “I’m glad you made it. ...Did you walk?”

She nodded. Darla never had an adult with her at the games, but she lived right across from the school. Which was several miles away. I wrapped her in my jacket, while various parents found napkins and such to try and dry her off. Seifer spoke quietly to the Hostess and clean dish towels, fresh hot pizza, and a cup of cocoa appeared. 

Several of the girls returned from the Playroom and surrounded Darla. Morgan teased her about forgetting an umbrella and Ansetta gave her a ring she’d won. It was plastic and had a realistic butterfly made of paper and gauzy fabric perched on it. “I’m not so into bugs, you take it.” The other kids clustered around, giving advice on the best waters, telling Darla about the games, and sharing stickers.

I joined Seifer, Dulce, Grant, and a few other adults in the corner. 

“I don’t like this, what kind of asshole lets a little kid go out in this weather by herself?” Seifer frowned.

“It will be full dark by the time we’re done here.” Grant put in. “We’d give her a lift home but we already promised others, not enough room in the car.”

“I’ll take her, she’s a friend of Morgan’s. I’m just wondering if we should take her home.”

“Her mother is a doll, she’s a night nurse at the clinic, she was wonderful to us when Ursus had his appendectomy,” one of the team moms said.

Dulce asked, “Night nurse? Who looks after the child while she’s at work?”

“Her father has been out of work for months, that’s why Trixie - Darla’s mother - took the night shift, it pays more.” 

As insulated as Garden life was, and as small as Balamb was, it still surprises me how much of everyone’s business is common knowledge in a small town. 

“It can’t pay a lot more, she doesn’t even have a raincoat.” Seifer turned to me. “Isn’t there a program or something that can help?”

If there wasn’t, I knew who could create one. Meanwhile, “I know they have one for children whose parents are disabled, there is a certification process-” 

A woman snorted. “Ken Rakes’ only disability is his inability to set down the beer or get off the couch.” When we all looked at her, she clarified, “Jedra Rakes. Darla’s father and my ex are brothers.”

“If him being disabled will get the kid some help, I can assist in that,” Seifer said. 

“How?” Jedra asked. “Are you a doctor?”

“No, but I have a fifteen pound sledge in the back of the truck and after a couple whacks he’ll be disabled as hell and it won’t take a doctor to prove it.”

I mentally face palmed. In my experience, Peace Enforcers took a dim view of threats, no matter how casual. Fortunately, the others thought Seifer was kidding and laughed. One of them said, “Do you make house calls? My sister has hooked up with a real waste of skin.”

Seifer shook his head. “I only risk jail time for defenseless little kids. Adults need to cope with their own mistakes.”

“Hear, hear,” Grant muttered. 

“I’ll take Darla home to spend the night with us,” Jedra said. “Xinia is her first cousin, they don’t see each other as much since her dad and I broke up. I’ll call Trix and let her know where she is.” She moved off to suggest the sleep over to the girls, who were both delighted. 

“Still don’t like it,” Seifer grumbled.

The wait staff handed out Mrs Moogle’s cake and cups of cocoa, which went over well. The cake was more of a pie - a layer of custard over a sweetened pizza crust, then a layer of mixed berries, bananas, thin sliced apples and other fruits. It was topped by whipped cream with a bit of vanilla and cinnamon stirred in, and a few artistic larger pieces of fruit were arranged over that. It was messy but delicious and I could understand Selphie’s fondness for the dish. 

I had gotten a ribbon for every girl who signed up, and I was glad for Malon Whipsaw’s sake. I called each girl by name, pinned the ribbon on, and thanked her for playing while the other kids and parents applauded. It was the sort of ceremony I would have detested as a child, but Seifer would have basked in and loved. 

We were packing up when Xinia asked Darla, “Where’s your coat?”

She flushed. “I um, forgot it.”

“I’ve never seen you wear a coat,” Sara said. “I don’t think you have one.”

“No, I do, I’m just warm blooded.”

“This is her coat right here,” Morgan said, taking charge. She handed Darla her own dark blue jacket. 

“No, Boss, that’s yours, I can’t take your coat.” Darla held it tightly. Knowing Seifer, the jacket was top of the line, and expensive. 

“I don’t like it, it’s too tight over my cast and it’s too big for Sami, who won’t wear it anyhow because she doesn’t like zippers.”

Samantha confirmed, “They bite and they are hard to do unless Daddy starts them for me.”

Darla looked longingly at the fabric in her hands. “Won’t your daddy get mad?”

“No,” Seifer said. “Boss is right, she needs a larger size to fit over the cast. Go ahead and take it, Darla. We were going shopping for a new one tomorrow anyway.”

Clutching the coat to her chest, Darla said, “I do have a coat of my own, you know.”

“Sure,” Morgan said carelessly. “You can give that one back when you find it.”

Months later I was substituting for Darla’s class and she showed me her new ski jacket. Things were improving at home - her mother was back on day shift and her father had gotten a job with an engineering/construction company. 

***

Jamie sent over a “proper” sling for Morgan’s arm - one of those canvas things that look like book bag, with straps and buckles. She embroidered a kitten on it, and Morgan was torn between loving the kitten and rejecting anything from Jamie as a matter of principle. I suspect she also didn’t want to be seen in public wearing anything so girlie. Problem was solved when the doctor announced Morgan didn’t really need a sling, and Lani remade it into a throw pillow for Morgan’s bed. 

The effort generated enough goodwill that when Jamie inexplicably decided to take the girls shopping, Morgan went with minimal fuss. She returned, thoroughly disgusted, the dismayed owner of a new dress for the holidays. It was a nice golden brown with wide enough sleeves for the cast. It tied with a gold ribbon - not the frilliest thing I’d ever seen by a long shot- and would look great with Morgan’s coloring. Samantha got a deep rose pink dress with lace trimmed collar and cuffs and was in heaven. It was a nice gesture, I guess. I didn’t have the heart to remind Jamie that the girls would more likely be in clam diggers and hoodies up at Turtle Bay. Fuu wasn’t big on formality. 

The storm damaged a bridge upstream from us so my company was pretty busy for a while. The safest thing to do would be replace the whole structure with a free span as the trestles of the existing bridge were notorious collectors of crap, which impeded the flow and eroded the banks. However, that was also the most expensive and time consuming choice so instead I got the “no room in the budget” speech and ended up with my crew having to jaunt up there every so often and do damage control. I lowered the weight limit and rerouted what traffic I could while the Local Powers That Be put their trust in Hyne.

I was in my office down at City Hall finishing up a report for the budget committee and trying to make it sound less like it should be titled “Why Our Mayor is a Moron”. I glanced up and Thom Howard had dropped into my visitor’s chair. 

“Hey,” I said with a smile, which faded quickly when he didn’t smile back. My first thought was he had found out who I really was and I was going to have to throw the girls in the truck and run for Timber. Assuming Rinoa didn’t hold a grudge. 

Thom slid down in the chair, sticking his legs out. “Couple of kids met, thought they were in love. Made a baby, got married, tried to make the best of it.”

So far, it sounded kinda familiar. Except for the love part. I nodded. 

“They were too young, thought they weren’t, found out the old folks were right and being a grownup was harder than it looked. The neighbors said the fights were legendary.”

Yeah, that was me and Solange all right. She once threw the entire contents of the spice rack at me, and then pulled the rack itself off the wall and pitched that. The sad part is, Sol is hilarious when she’s really angry, spouting all kinds of nonsense, and I was laughing so hard by that point she actually clipped me. The wooden rack caught me right above the ear and we had to trek down to the clinic, me covered in assorted spices, so I could get 11 more stitches in my poor head. 

I nodded some more. 

“He popped her one time and she filed for divorce.”

“Can’t blame her, can you?” So it wasn’t about me. Solange threw things but I never retaliated - she was pregnant with my daughter, after all - and Jamie and I only really started sniping at each other after she left. “I mean, unless she was a pro boxer or something... no, not even then.”

“No, they weren’t good for each other and therefore not good for the baby. She wanted sole custody, didn’t even want him to have visitation.” Thom took his glasses off and fiddled with them. “I represented him. He was a nice guy, everyone said he was a nice guy, she just pushed his buttons. He had no trouble at work. Truck driver, never a spot on his record, clean drug scans, everything. Well, judges like to keep the fathers in the picture and she ... came across as vindictive. Judge granted joint custody but because the baby was so young, he lived with his mother and dad got full and frequent visitation.” 

Thom stared out into space. “So he had the kid for an overnight, brought him home at the appointed time yesterday afternoon. According to her roommate, he asked her to get in the car so they could talk. She agreed. He drove them to River Bend, parked under the beech nut trees, and shot her point blank between the eyes.”

“Hyne,” I breathed. 

“He then turned on the emergency tracking device in his phone, sent a text to the authorities, put the gun in his mouth, and took his own life.”

“Hyne on the half shell.”

“Their 3 year old son was strapped in the car seat in the back the whole time. He saw it all.”

There was nothing I could say to that, and I was afraid he was going to cry, so I distracted myself hunting for tissues. I didn’t have any, but Thom got himself together so we didn’t need them anyhow. 

“You going to take him in?”

“What?” Thom shook himself like he was trying to wake up from a bad dream. “No, can’t, conflict of interest. He’s at the Church of Hyne, they have a great program, fortunately we don’t need to use it much. The Sisters there are wonderful, and the boy’s maternal aunt and her partner will be here by tomorrow.” 

“There’s something, at least. I’m sorry Buddy, that whole thing sucks.”

“Yeah.” He seemed to make a decision. “The text he sent... it said ‘I had to save my son. Sorceress’.”

“Bullshit,” I said before I could stop myself. 

“There’s no way she could have been a Sorceress?” Thom put his glasses back on and looked at me intently. 

“Look, I don’t know what kind of voices that poor son of a bitch was hearing in his head, but his wife was no Sorceress.”

“How do you know?”

I gave Thom the ‘give me some credit’ look. “Since you obviously know, I am an expert on Sorceresses. First and foremost, they are sterile. That’s why they steal other people’s kids.”

Thom took out his little notebook. He was shook up but he was also a professional. “Is that documented?”

“I’d think so. Check with Odine in Esthar - or better yet, avoid that whack job and just read some of his papers. SeeD has libraries of stuff on Sorceresses, they can help you.”

“Could it have been someone else? In town? A sorceress just causing problems?”

I shook my head. “There is no Sorceress in town. I would know.” So would Squall. “One with mind control skills would have to have a sizable chunk of Hyne’s Gift, I’d feel the power.”

Carefully, Thom said, “Because you have it.”

“Yeah, me and 3 other people in the area and no I’m not going to tell you who they are.”

“I already know two.”

“Ok, fine. The other two are under ten or over eighty so don’t lose any sleep over them.”

Thom nodded and stood up. “My wife and I can’t have children,” he said, daring me to make a connection. 

“Phfft. Ruth is no more a sorceress than that stapler. Although I can see how she’d need mind control to put up with you.”

Slightly cheered, Thom flipped me off and left. I tabled my report, went home, and hugged my girls. 

After I called Squall and gave him the heads up.

 

 

There was a big game, important enough to be televised, and I invited Squall over to watch. According to the leftovers from Jamie’s Manual for a Picture Perfect Life that were still lurking in my head, I would build a fire, Squall would bring snackie things, and we’d hang out and watch the game and drink beer. 

Squall accepted easily enough although I’m not sure he was into the sport any more than I was. It was the sheer normalcy of it that was the attraction; it was what was expected of men our age. 

Look at us, we can do things like ordinary people.

Reality was a bit different. Neither of us particularly liked beer - Squall preferred whiskey and I spent way too much time with my head in the toilet in my college days- so we ended up drinking coffee instead. He did bring snackie things - some sort of cheese and spinach roll, and one of those dips with beans and cheese and lettuce and crap I never can figure out if you are supposed to eat hot or cold. The girls hit both like locusts and there was nary a crumb left before the first commercial. It was too hot for a fire; in fact it was one of those golden late autumn days Mother Nature sneaks in to fool people into thinking winter wasn’t right around the corner. 

It wasn’t long before the visiting team had scored enough times to make it apparent the home team, the Llamas, were vastly outclassed. It was just painful to watch, so we cut the TV off and considered our options. It was a gorgeous day and Squall just about had me convinced he wouldn’t be bored shitless if we packed the girls up and took them to the park to feed the ducks when there was a knock at the door.

It was a woman, somewhere between middle aged and old, dressed as they always seemed to be in a sweater with cutesy stuff on it, matching slacks, and blindingly white sneakers. She had a little dog on a leash, the kind that looks like a scrub brush with a mustache. 

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” she said. “You - you’re Morgan’s father, aren’t you?” I swear to Hyne I thought she was about to burst into tears.

“Look, whatever she did, I’m sorry, I’ll talk to her, how much will it cost to fix it?” My girls are the best, but they are also mine, so I figured whatever the crisis was, it wasn’t going to be cheap. 

“Hey!” Morgan said indignantly behind me, curiosity having brought her to see who was there. “I didn’t do it!”

The woman looked startled. “What? No, she’s a lovely girl - she helped me when Scamp shot out that time and ran off.” The scrub brush wagged a stubby tail at the sound of its name. “I just... I was hoping you could help me.”

Relieved it wasn’t my poor parenting, I stepped back and gestured her in. “Sure, anything.” It was probably still going to be expensive, but at least it wasn’t my fault. A sudden unhappy thought hit - I sure hoped Scamp didn’t have puppies that needed homes.

“Thank you. I’m Beryl Rosewalk.” She scooped up the little dog and joined me in the foyer, but seemed at a loss where to go from there. 

“Nice to meet you, call me Seifer. That’s Squall Leon, you know my girls, right? Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

Squall got up from the couch and stepped forward. “Maybe Morgan and Samantha could take the dog into the backyard?”

“Yes!” Morgan said, reaching out grabby hands. Sam, peeking around the corner from the hall, nodded agreement. 

“Oh, you have company, I’m so sorry...” she seemed so lost and flustered I took the little dog from her and handed it to my delighted daughter. 

“Squall’s not company, come in, sit down.”

Squall flashed me an amused look and herded girls and dog out the kitchen door. The woman sat on one of the side chairs, looking uncomfortable.

“I’m so sorry, I have no right to impose but Morgan said... I’ve seen your truck, and we all know how good you’ve been to Dot Drinkwater-” the old lady across the street “- and I just don’t know where to turn.” Her face crumpled. “It’s my husband.”

My first thought was he’d taken a swing at her and Squall and I were going to have to go explain life to some old chocobo ass. 

“He’s going to kill himself,” she said, and started crying. 

Squall and I both reached for our phones. “Where is he now?” Squall asked, commander mode.

“Oh! Not like that.” She fished a handkerchief out of her pocket. “He’s just so stubborn. He has a bad heart and he won’t listen.”

“Start at the beginning,” Squall ordered. I looked out our front window, slowly putting two and two together. 

“We put in one of those whirlpool hot tub things for my arthritis. Gerald, he’s next door, has been a perfect prick - excuse my language - the whole time. He called the City and complained we didn’t have a permit - we did- and then he complained about the noise and then about the dust, and then he said the installers had cracked the sidewalk and it was a trip hazard and had to be dug up and replaced.”

“I’ve seen some construction going on, the green house with the pink flower bushes, right?”

“Azaleas. Yes. So they had to take our fence down, to get the equipment in the backyard, and there’s a code that if you have a pool you have to have it fully enclosed by a six foot high fence within 24 hours of completion. The fine is four thousand gil.” 

“And Gerald is standing there with a stop watch?” I guessed.

“Just about. The company delivered the lumber yesterday and finished the pool and were supposed to come back this morning to put up the fence. But no one showed!” She started crying again. “I called but no one answers. Hal is trying to put it up himself. He’s a dentist, he doesn’t know a thing about construction. He’s nearly seventy, he’s going to have a stroke! But he’s so stubborn.” 

Squall and I looked at each other. It wasn’t like we had anything better to do.

“You ever put up a fence?” I asked. 

“No, but I take direction well.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean for you to do it! I thought being in the business you might know someone we could call...” She flailed a little. 

“Let us go look at it and see what we can do. You don’t mind if the girls come along, do you?”

She didn’t, which was a damn good thing, and Morgan and Sam were thrilled to walk Scamp back home for her. On the way, Morgan shared that Scamp was a grat terrier. Squall and I paused to look at the little guy, not sure if we were more sorry for the dog or the grats. 

In the side yard of the green house was a chubby old man in eye searing turquoise coveralls making a general mess of mud and concrete. Hal Rosewalk had a post hole digger and some 4 x 4s leaning crookedly in holes. He was in process of creating a solid cement step out of his little mixing box and a sack of quick set. 

Off to the side was a balding middle aged man in jeans and a grubby lumberjack shirt. He held up his phone when we walked up. “I’m taking pictures; I’m documenting all of this!”

“Documenting standing around like an ass while some old duff kills himself working,” I muttered to Squall. 

“He just wants to play,” Squall said, looking Gerald over. 

I did a double take. “For reals?” The guy was more dressed for yard work than Squall was, that was for sure.

Doc Rosewalk was understandably irritated by the whole deal but he had enough male ego to resent his wife going to younger men for help. He shot his wife a look, which she deflected by ushering the girls inside so Scamp could get off the leash a while. Defeated, he wiped his brow with a bunched up bandana and held out his hand. “Hal Rosewalk. I don’t know what Berry told you, but I’m making good progress.”

Gerald snorted and although it’s against my religion to agree with an asshole, he had a point. Progress wasn’t the exact term I would have picked. “Seifer Almasy, that’s Squall Leon. Come on, now, Doc, you tell me you don’t check out a guy’s teeth when he talks and I won’t give in to my instincts and snoop your construction site.”

He laughed. “Nice smile, son.”

I wished I could return the compliment but Hyne on the half shell, the man didn’t have a clue what he was doing. He’d even tried nailing some of the rails to the posts before setting them. Morgan knew more about basic construction. Hell, Samantha did. I suspected the scrub brush on the leash did. Trying to be nice, I said, “You are lacking some tools here.” Like common sense. “Let me go fetch some things out of my garage.” 

I shot Squall a look and he nodded. He’d been talking to Gerald, which surprised me a bit. 

“Also, Doc, that disposable mixing box, it’s just going to glue its little cardboard ass to your patio as a permanent trip hazard. We need a wheelbarrow, a garden hose, a shovel and I hope you have more cement.”

“Gravel,” Gerald muttered. 

“Yeah, and gravel.” 

“The spa people brought everything... I don’t have a wheelbarrow, though.”

Squall gave Gerald the hairy eyeball until he confessed, “I have one.”

“Good man, bring it out. Ok, Ger is in charge of concrete at the mo. Squall, check out the post holes, Doc, you have some string? I’ll be back in a flash.”

I hot footed it back to my workshop in the garage. Normally, I wouldn’t leave the girls with a quasi-stranger, but Beryl didn’t seem like the type who would stuff them in an oven as soon as my back was turned. Besides, Squall was there and could surely stop her before she was able to cook and eat them both.

I took a sec to change into some grubbies and grabbed an old pair of coveralls and extra gloves for Squall. When I switched out my sneakers for workboots, I winced at the thought of Squall’s motorcycle boots getting covered with mud and cement, but there was nothing I could lend him that would protect his feet as well. 

Red wagon loaded with various essentials, I jogged back to the Rosewalk fiasco. Once there I was reminded that Squall had never put up a fence before, either. Although blessed with common sense, he tends to be passive in scenarios he knows nothing about, which is why Squall was using a yard stick to measure the depth of the hole he’d re-dug. 

“Twenty nine inches,” Squall said. 

Doc was hovering nearby. “The other was 27 and a half, maybe a little more gravel?” 

“Wait, what?” I parked the wagon and threw Squall the coveralls and gloves. 

“It has to be the same, how else will the fence posts be even?” Rosewalk said.

I turned to Gerald. “You let them do this?” He had the grace to look guilty, but only briefly because he was trying not to laugh. Ger gave it up completely when I gave him the finger of shame. 

“Guys, just get it close and we’ll cut off the tops so it’s even. Let’s roll, the weather says summer but it will be dark before we know it.”

We fell to and it went a lot quicker than expected. I called a break once the concrete was poured - it needed to set and the old man looked like he needed to sit. We all flopped on his lawn and Beryl brought out beer and lemonade. Doc poured his together the way the locals drank it, so I did too. It’s not half bad when you are hot and sweaty from working in the yard. Squall drank only lemonade - he did have to ride his bike home later- which worked out because Gerald only drank the beer. 

“I’m glad to see you,” I told Beryl. “I was half afraid the girls had tied you to a post and were pillaging as we speak.”

She laughed. “We made brownies and Sami and I are watching my recordings of my soap opera. Morgan wanted to come out and help you all but I felt she was safer indoors. She’s trying to teach Scamp how to shake hands, now.”

“That dog’s noggin is all eyeballs and teeth, not much room left for brain. I’d be astonished if she could teach him to beg for bacon.” Gerald lost what points he’d made by helping by opening his big mouth. 

Sheesh, even I knew you can’t bad mouth a person’s dog any more than you can his kids. Beryl frosted over so I jumped in with, “You don’t know how stubborn Morgan is. She’ll teach that poor dog to shake and probably bow and send thank you notes. Or die trying.”

Doc said, “If you have the television on anyway, Berry, check the score.” She nodded and went back inside, hopefully to check the girls and the brownies as well as the game. “I feel bad, making you boys work and miss the big game.”

That got another snort from Gerald. “Hal, if the Llamas had a hope in hell of winning I’d be inside watching instead of mixing concrete.”

“They are playing with their usual panache, then?”

“Panache, maybe,” I said. “Skill, no. Seriously, unless at half time they confessed the players we saw were actually their grandmothers in disguise and the real team was finally coming onto the field, there is no way in Hyne’s happy half that game would be anything other than embarrassing.”

Beryl opened the kitchen window, allowing a wonderful chocolatey cakey smell to drift out. “Fifty-two to nothing.”

“They only scored three more times since we turned it off,” Squall mused. 

“Defense stepped up?” Doc guessed. 

“Visitors didn’t want to get lynched for cruelty to dumb animals,” was my suggestion. 

Naturally Gerald was a diehard Llamas fan, even if he couldn’t sit through one of their games, either. “If they could get decent coaches -”

That got Squall’s attention and the discussion turned into a friendly squabble about coaching vs talent. Beryl brought out a platter of still hot brownies, my daughters close behind her. Samantha ceremonially handed out paper napkins and Morgan demonstrated to Doc that Scamp could, in fact, sit and shake hands. 

The sun was lowering but we had enough time to get the slats up and finish the fence. It was cooling off a little too, but not enough that lying in the grass eating brownies and drinking shandy wasn’t a pleasure. Beryl and Sami sat on the stoop while Morgan and Scrubbrush ran around chasing each other. Everyone was talking, friendly, animated discussions of dogs and soap operas, making brownies and sports.

It occurred to me we had this ‘normal’ thing down pat.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family Day Eve

Family Day is a big deal in Esthar. It might be a big deal all over; I suspect it was down played at Garden since most of us had no family. Legend has it that some ancient ruler held an annual census to determine taxes and foolishly levied against households instead of individuals. The more people in the house, the less the tax burden was on each and thus people would travel from miles around to be incorporated and counted as part of a family. Knowing governmental officials like I do, that dodge would have only been successful once. 

The custom endured for several factors. The timing was good for travel: after crops were in, before winter storms. The holiday fell half a year from the other typical family gathering - the early summer dates chosen by the Church of Hyne as most auspicious for weddings. The holiday itself was informal; tradition demanding only that there be some sort of family meal. 

The media and other commercial enterprises changed that. Bolstered by a sentimental president, Family Day became fraught with new traditions or the resurrection of ancient ones. After dinner but before dessert was served second oldest person at the table toasted the oldest and pledged to pay his or her taxes if necessary. Many families passed the hat to help with this, the bounty going to the host to help offset the cost of the feast. Some people used chocolate or other candy coins; ours had passed beyond the monetary theme and focused on providing the most unusual or tasty treats. 

There was always at least one heartwarming film about a family being reunited in some way. The war ones annoyed me the most - in my experience war did nothing to bring families together. Quite the opposite. Fortunately Laguna’s position made it more difficult for him to slip out to watch a show. If there was one he particularly wanted to see, a mini theater was set up in the Palace. Last year it had been about a lost dog and when I gave up and went to bed, he and Ellone were still eating popcorn and sniffling. This year’s offering was about the First Sorceress War and while Kiros would have to sit through it and screen it, I was confident the rest of us could avoid the thing entirely. 

Any friend or kin who could not attend your feast expected at the least a card or call. To neglect them was tantamount to dropping them from the rolls and forcing them to pay their own taxes. 

I got a flattering amount of cards and letters, including several from my students. I picked a few to share with Laguna but left the one from the Almasy girls on my desk. It was covered with luridly colored cereal bits and would not travel well in the damp weather. 

Quistis and Selphie wrote at least once a month; this time they both enclosed cards. Quistis’ was a tasteful autumn scene and warm if formal wishes for a happy holiday. Selphie and Irvine’s spilled suggestively shaped glitter in my lap and played a digital version of a traditional holiday tune honked and warked by chocobo. 

I had barely recovered when Zell called. He was using the expensive vid version and grinned at my distracted greeting. “Hey Baby, love the glitter. That is a turkey leg, right?”

“I hope so,” I said, picking the thing off my lapel and settling down for a long, if chaotic, chat. Various offspring and family members wandered in and out behind Zell, occasionally adding comments and holiday wishes. A dark haired man waved shyly before being drafted by Zell’s wife Nadia to get china out of the high cupboard. I eventually placed him as her twin brother. “Was that Nida?”

Zell glanced back over his shoulder. “Yeah, don’t feel bad, I hardly recognized him myself with the douche beard.”

We talked about Garden and SeeD and some trouble with a splinter religious sect up in the hills near Dollet. Then Zell moved the conversation to more cheerful things - news about his children, Balamb Town, people we both knew.

“Doc Kadowaki says they are coming out with a new series of triple triad cards, based on the Fall of the First Shinra Empire.”

That was news. “I wonder if Ward has any of the new cards.”

Zell laughed. “And if you can get them away from him? Doc has one, she showed me, some red headed maniac in a suit. Good stats, though.” 

“Yule is coming,” I hinted, joking. Mostly.

“Baby, the only way I could get that card away from her is if I knocked her out and stole it. There are some things I won’t do even for you, and beating up old ladies is one of them.”

Proving that Seifer has been and will always be a bad influence, I mused, “You wouldn’t have to punch her out. A light sedative in her tea...”

“Dude. Thirty looms and with it, old age things like prostate exams. Now is not the time to piss off the family quack. Anyway, you know I don’t play - once I saw they had cards of us and had for years it creeped me out.”

“Time compression.”

“Creepy as a hat made out of live spiders, Baby. And not even the cute fuzzy ones.”

“There are cute spiders?” I’m not an arachnophobe but ‘cute’ and ‘spider’ were not words my mind readily associated.

“Well, the fuzzy ones, you have to give them points for trying.” Zell shrugged. “Thing is, you want the card, you come and get it.”

“She won’t play me.”

“I’ll disguise you up. Put your hair in braids, draw some tribal tattoos on your face, lend you my surfer jams.”

Dryly I said, “The world’s palest surfer.”

“Night Surfing!” Zell was laughing again. “Glow in the dark board and night scope so you can see the rocks.”

It always surprises me how with some people, time and distance doesn’t change anything. You know them and can trust them forever; the ties of friendship hold no matter how long it’s been since you last talked. 

Selphie and Irvine sent Zell the same card, hopefully without the glitter which at least one of his kids would try to eat. He talked me into playing them together and we opened and closed the cards repeatedly, trying to get them to sync. The resulting random squawks, honks, and warks attracted my cat and he jumped up and sniffed suspiciously at the speakers, trying to locate the birds. His tail smothered the camera, leaving Zell with nothing to see but swathes of mottled gray fur and the occasional giant nostril or paw as the cat investigated. Or less attractive bits when he turned to attack my card. We laughed so much the cat spooked and jumped away, overturning my coffee and cutting the call short.

That was Wednesday evening. Family Day itself was held on a Friday, to give people more time to eat leftovers and clean the kitchen. Due to what Seifer called “holiday creep” many people took Thursday off to do the actual traveling - so much so a lot of businesses, including Seifer’s, were closed both Thursday and Friday. Some were starting to close at noon Wednesday; he claimed eventually everyone would take an entire week off like at Yule. 

The School District went with the holiday creep, because the teachers and other employees also wanted time off to travel and prepare, or because everyone was fully aware that at the elementary school level at least, the children would be over excited and impossible to teach. I was free until Monday. Longer if none of the regular teachers fell ill. 

I debated leaving Wednesday night to avoid some of the traffic. I decided instead to follow Zell’s example of sending greetings early and spent the rest of the evening texting “Happy Family Day” to most of my list. A reputation for being taciturn is a useful thing. 

I planned to call Seifer Thursday before I left, but he called shortly after Zell.  
“Just wanted to make sure you didn’t want to come up to Turtle Bay with us. Fuu and Rai would love to see you. Lani has already left so you may want to refute her lies in person.”

“Lies?”

“You know, made of awesome, walks on water, saves nuns from burning hospital...”

I frowned. “Wasn’t that last an episode of ‘Storm of SeeD’?”

“I knew you watched it, too!” Seifer laughed. 

With as much dignity as I had left, I said, “Gathering evidence for my law suit.”

“Admit it, you are addicted to train wrecks.”

“Not all of that was lies.” Seifer made an interrogatory noise and I continued smugly, “‘Made of awesome’.”

“And bullshit. We’ll think of you as we toodle up the coast in the glorious sunshine to beautiful Turtle Bay while you struggle through city traffic in the pissing rain.”

As if. Did he forget I grew up alongside him in a seaside village? “Fog.”

“Burns off by noon. Supposed to rain all weekend in Esthar.” 

“At least I won’t be eating seafood.”

A solid hit, and proven by Seifer affectionately calling me “Asshole”, and hanging up. 

Seifer had a point; traffic and weather would add more time an already long drive. I could fix a thermos of coffee, load up the audio version of a book I’d been meaning to read, and crawl down to Esthar in the safety and comfort of my four wheel drive SUV. 

Or I could take the bike, get soaked, skirt the worst of the traffic, and be there in half the time.

Decision made, I packed and set the cat up for a long weekend on his own. I never had a pet before; I wasn’t entirely sure I had one now. The cat was more of roommate, eating my food and leaving messes. A lot like my roommate in college, come to think about it, except instead of empty pizza boxes on the couch I got dead vermin on the mat. It was an improvement.

Having taken the cat in I didn’t feel right putting him back out for 3 to 4 days, particularly if the weather was inclement. Miss Bloom at the school, a veteran of many cats, said I could leave dry food and water and a sand box and just have a minor disaster on my hands when I returned. I was warned I’d be heavily snubbed but not informed how I’d know the difference. 

I slept in Thursday and left shortly after lunch. I obeyed all traffic laws until well out of town, then I quit. It was drizzling softly, not enough to impair vision. The bike was designed for speed and I passed the other vehicles like a racing chocobo. Twice Traffic Enforcement flashed lights at me to pull over, but once they got the ping back with the ID on the bike, they let me go. 

They had no hope of catching me, anyway. 

There was a new recruit on Palace gate and although I gave him the password, he was flustered by Lionheart showing up on the scan and tried to detain me. Cold doesn’t bother me as long as I am junctioned with Shiva, but I do feel it, and I was thoroughly wet by then and in no mood to be kind. He called his supervisor and I called his supervisor’s boss, Kiros. We both got an ass chewing.

“I’m sure there’s at least one traffic law you didn’t break on your suicide drive.”

“Tell me what it is and I’ll make sure it’s covered on the way back.” The recruit was apologizing to me in the background; I waved him off and rolled through the check point, heading for the Presidential Garage. 

“After the second Enforcer Alert came through on your bike, Ward went and dug out his stash of hi-potions. I wish Laga had gotten you something more sedate.” There was a pause and Kiros added, “Ward says ‘like a tricycle’.”

I parked in my usual spot, next to the classic pre-Adel Torama Laguna had been in the process of restoring ever since I met him. “Mount your remote Enforcers on chocobo or they will continue to be left behind.”

“Phfft, they don’t ride them for the same reason you don’t.” 

“They can’t all be allergic to feathers.” 

“To shoveling guano, more like. We’ll be with Ellone tonight if you are willing to take guard duty.”

It was an ill kept secret that the President gave the entire Palace staff, including guards, Family Day off. Already the Palace was down to a skeleton crew, as witnessed by the recruit on the gates.

It was the sort of thing that made Laguna immensely popular; only twice in the last 15 years had anyone tried to take advantage of it. The first time an Adel loyalist got as far as the Presidential chambers before discovering another ill kept secret - Laguna did not actually need a Palace Guard. He kept his machine gun close at hand and was a deadly accurate shot. Not to mention his two most trusted advisors were skilled and well-armed, his adopted daughter was a sorceress, and in recent years the president was joined by his son who had a little practice at combat himself. 

The second attempt was the year before I got my teaching degree. A drunk and confused idealist got the idea he would storm the Palace, take the opulent feast away from the idle upper echelon, and give it to the starving and homeless. He was tracked on the security cameras wandering around the Public Rooms, trying to find us - we were all in the kitchen doing the dishes by that point - while we held a lengthy discussion over how best to handle the situation. Kiros and my suggestions were dismissed out of hand as being too violent and/or messy. Laguna’s idea of just giving the guy the leftovers and telling him to have at it was felt to send the wrong message.

Finally Ellone and Ward went to talk to him, meaning Sis talked and Ward looked dangerous. The perp surrendered, confessed, and in the fastest trial in Estharian history, was sentenced to 120 hours community service at the soup kitchen or homeless shelter of his choice. 

Then Laguna gave him all the leftovers and told him to have at it. 

I acknowledged the responsibility, hung up, hoisted up my bags and dripped my way to the kitchen. 

Laguna was there, as I knew he would be, stirring something in a stock pot. He cannot cook in small amounts, something he blames on his army days. Since he was an infantry recon agent I have no idea why it would influence Laguna’s concepts of portion sizes. 

“Squall!” Smiling, Laguna bounded over, arms spread for one of his rib crushing hugs. He stopped short and looked me over. “Wow, you are wet as a hen.”

“Aren’t ducks more commonly associated with water?”

“But if water rolls off a duck’s back, she isn’t wet, right? But you hear about wet hens all the time.” 

I forbear pointing out I was at best a rooster, mainly because frequent exposure to Seifer led my mind straight to cock jokes. “I believe they are angry.”

“I would be, too, if some duck got me wet.” Laguna continued, “Didn’t you want to go to your suite dry off, first?”

“This was closer.”

“Good thinking, that’s a lot of corridor to mop.” He opened a drawer and fished out a stack of those white square towels that serve as everything from aprons to pot holders. Laguna draped one over my head and shoved the rest into my arms before whirling away to stir the stock pot again. He pointed to my favorite appliance with the spoon. “Coffee?”

“Yes.” I took the hint and set my boots and jacket by the door with the bulk of my luggage. I dried off as best I could, leaving the least damp towel around my neck. That left me in tee shirt, leather pants, and socks, but it was warm in the corner of the kitchen Laguna claimed as his own. I picked a counter out of the way, sat my small carry bag and myself on it, and gratefully accepted a large mug of hot coffee. 

Technically the entire Palace belonged to Laguna, as the Estharians had only a dim grasp of democratic principles but a firm one of aristocratic privilege. That said, the Palace kitchens were a huge enterprise, providing thousands of meals daily, and I was surprised the head chef tolerated Laguna’s incursions into his domain. It turned out that he was in fact flattered and delighted by the interest Laguna took, and enjoyed giving the President pointers and sampling his experiments. 

Laguna could charm anyone.

“Did you want to change? I told Ward to let the kitchen staff go after lunch so there’s no one to see if you want to just shuck off in here where it’s warm.”

Ward was Laguna’s major domo and in charge of all the Palace Staff. Kiros handled security, both for the President and the country. Ward had the harder job. 

Laguna continued, “I can find someone to run to your rooms and get you some dry clothes if the stuff in your suitcase is wet. Henri is gone, his daughter had twins this morning. He was sorry to miss you, but I told him you would see him at Yule.”

Henri was the valet foisted on me by convention and Ellone’s secret belief I would wear black leather or a rugby kit to every engagement. She knows me well. Kiros managed to reconcile me to having a fussy little old man in my apartments folding my clothes and shining my boots by pointing out that if I didn’t have private servants I would have to allow the myriad Palace workers access, since, “We both know you will not be running the vacuum cleaner or ironing your shirts yourself.” 

“I’m all right.” Twins would mean twice the baby pictures. I made a mental note to keep Ellone or Laguna nearby to make the appropriate cooing sounds. “Do I send a gift?”

“I think so. Always butter up a person who handles your underwear. I’m sure Ellie will be glad to help you find something.” Laguna started dishing up white glop into a bowl. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

“I didn’t think you’d stop to eat on way.” He topped the mess with thin sliced radish and fresh ground black pepper and handed me the bowl. 

“Too wet,” I agreed. “This is soup, right?”

Laguna laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “It started as a healthier alternative to mashed potatoes but Ward said it was too runny to hold gravy. So I went with it just being a side dish but Kiros said he wasn’t eating pureed anything while he still had teeth. So now it’s soup.”

I sampled carefully. “Roasted cauliflower and... turnip?”

“Yes, and some spuds and a little parsnip, and of course leek. Cream of white vegetable soup!”

“Cream is white.”

“White soup!”

“You could use white pepper.”

Laguna hoisted himself up to sit next to me. “Problem with ground white pepper is it doesn’t look like pepper. It looks like dirt.”

“I have heard you eat with your eyes first.”

“Yeah, that’s my objection to wild rice, it always looks like a bowl of bugs to me. The crunch doesn’t help.” Laguna sipped coffee contemplatively. “Actually, I assumed it was wild rice. Maybe it was bugs. You never know at some of these banquets.”

Slightly grossed out, I said, “That’s my coffee.”

“Oh! I thought it needed sugar.” Laguna hopped down to fetch his own cup and to refill mine. “You want more soup? I made a lot.” He gestured to the 5 gallon stock pot. 

I held out my bowl. “It’s good.” Not sure I liked it enough to eat gallons of the stuff, but it had a nice, if bland flavor, and was warming and filling. Must be what they mean by ‘comfort food.’ “It will go with sandwiches on Saturday.”

“Hey, good idea. I’ll get Kiros to eat that puree one way or the other.” He puttered around the kitchen, checking on a few things before sitting next to me again and eyeing my pack with the subtlety of a small child. 

I rolled my eyes and set the bowl aside, having hit my limit of White. “There is a pizza place called MacMoogles.” I handed the hat and apron to Laguna, who immediately put them both on. “They have apple bacon pizza.”

“Really? How is it? What do they use, a honey mustard sauce?”

“I don’t recall any sauce, but honey mustard could work.” I gave him a copy of their take out menu, which he quickly scanned.

“Mrs Moogle’s cake? Did you try it? They served it at a function once, but the chef was heavy handed with the brandy and rum and a junior senator threw up all over the place before I got to try any.”

“I work with children and don’t have the adventures you do.”

“I work with children, too, only they are trapped in the bodies of stuffy old politicians.”

I washed up the soup bowl and put the leftover White away. Laguna bounced around the kitchen, suggesting and discarding ingredients for the apple bacon pizza while he made pie crust out of crushed gingersnaps. “If it works out, I’ll add it to the Hangover Brunch menu.”

I nodded. Every year on New Year’s Day my father fixed a huge late breakfast for everyone unfortunate enough to have attended the gala the night before. Kiros claimed it was the only way most of them survived. 

We discussed the menu for the next day; Laguna was planning on making the desserts and casseroles that night and then he and I would be up early to get the turkey roasting and the other food started. The feast might be the main focus of the holiday but for me, the best part was this - working together with this man who was both a stranger and my father, experimenting with flavors and textures, creating something pleasant and useful. 

Laguna put on some music; classic rock and roll. He was dancing to it while he pureed the pumpkin and I admit I found myself grating the fresh ginger to the beat. I heard a gasp and turned to find Ellone in the doorway. She was dressed in a formal gown of dark gold and would have looked elegant had she not been laughing so hard she was clutching the door jamb for support. 

“What-” She managed. “What is on your head, Laguna?”

“Squall bought it for me!” He turned around to show off the pleated tartan apron, striking a pose and making the red deelie ball bounce.

“It’s adorable. I think you should make all the senators wear them next Congress.”

“No, nuts to them, let them get their own.” Laguna flicked the red ball with his finger and grinned. 

Ellone giggled and came over to kiss me on the cheek. I gave her the tee shirt with the crooning Moogles, and she held it against herself the way women do when they are checking size. Laguna cracked up. 

“Wear it tomorrow! You will match my hat.”

Ellone admired herself in the reflection from the stainless steel freezer. “I think I will, I have a new skirt that will look cute with this.” I got another quick buss as thanks.

“You look nice. Which charity is it this time?”

“Helping Hounds.” Ellone laughed at my expression. “They really do fabulous work. They take rescue dogs and then train them and use them to help children who have been in traumatic situations, or elderly people dealing with depression, that sort of thing. There’s really a whole variety of ills that are greatly helped by, well, just having something alive and non-judgmental sit with you.”

I nodded. “And the dogs will be present at the event?”

“Some will, yes, which is why Laguna can’t come. But you could, I asked Henri to press your formal suit before he left.”

Laguna loves dogs - all animals as far as I could tell - but is highly allergic in the unattractive swelling, blotches and snot way. 

“No, I’m the Presidential Guard for the evening. Kiros and Ward must be both going with you.”

“You know what big softies they both are about animals and kids. Are you sure you don’t mind?” 

Why would I mind staying home to cook rather than put on a fancy suit and stand around with strangers? I like dogs, but not enough to endure that. “I’m flattered Kiros trusts me with the President.”

“I did have to promise to be good and not leave the Palace, blow anything up, shoot anyone or take over any countries.” Laguna ticked off his instructions on his fingers. 

“Damn,” I said, hiding a smile. “What’s left on the to-do list?”

“Cooking! Lots and lots of cooking!”

Ellone gasped. “Is that the correct time? I have to fly. I have to finish getting dressed or we’ll be more than fashionably late.”

“I thought you were dressed.”

“Squall! My make-up isn’t done, I’m not wearing any jewelry or even shoes!” Ellone lifted the hem of her skirt to show she was wearing pink bunny slippers. 

“Wear those, start a new fashion,” Laguna suggested. “Come home from a night of dancing without your cats meowing for once.”

“Dogs barking,” I corrected automatically.

“Feet aching.” Laguna clarified.

“Men.” She flounced off, shaking her head.

“Seemed reasonable to me,” Laguna protested to me.

“It’s raining,” I reminded him and he agreed that would be a problem in bunny slippers. 

We got the ginger pumpkin tarts in the oven and I started cubing the assorted breads for the dressing while Laguna created the pecan praline sauce to go over the baked apples. That required me to abandon my job and go help when it came time to turn the stuff out; Laguna couldn’t hold the hot heavy pot and scrape the bottom where the pecans collected at the same time. 

“I think I need smaller pots.”

“That would solve your problem of cooking enough to fill each one. There must be a two quarts of praline.”

“Phhfftt, it will get eaten. Ward loves the stuff, he puts it on everything. He’d put it on eggs if Kiros let him. He’d eat it straight from the pot!”

Since that was exactly what we were both doing at that moment - scraping out the hardened caramel from the sides and bottom of the pot - I couldn’t find fault. It was delicious, if sticky. 

“Needs coffee,” Laguna decided, foolishly leaving the pot with me. 

I took it back to where I’d left my carry bag, reminded of the other gifts I’d brought. I traded Laguna the remains of the praline pot for a cup of coffee, which he set aside when I handed him two bottles. “Homemade liquor is a big deal in that locale. The first bottle is a gift from a friend of Seifer’s.”

Laguna examined the plain stone bottle with ‘Tomas Howard’ and the year written in permanent ink. I kept my face blank, knowing it would goad him into trying the deadly stuff. Which he did, with scarcely a wheeze.

“Apple and caramel and... coffee?”

“I think so. Don’t drink that and drive.”

Scoffing, Laguna added a bit to each of our coffees before setting it aside and opening the second bottle. “Plum?” Laguna checked the handmade label glued onto the bottle. “‘Rory’s Amazing Wild Raspberry and Plum Gin’. Sounds promising.”

“It took first prize at their Harvest Faire.”

“Sounds like my kind of Faire.”

“You would have enjoyed it. I took pictures.” He made greedy hands so I dug out my camera. 

Laguna leaned against the counter, scrolling through the images and smiling. I decided to soak the praline pot before we scraped the metal thin trying to get the last of caramel out. 

“This your cat?”

Why do people think you know which picture they are looking at? And why do they always wait until you walk away to ask questions? I knew eventually I’d be forced to stop what I was doing and go look at the images myself, but this one was easy. Unlike many who live alone, I did not spend much time photographing my cat. 

“He photobombed me when I was trying to get a shot of the girls’ participation ribbons.”

“Thing to remember about women and cats is: you are not allowed to pay attention to anything else when they are in the room.”

“I prefer more self-sufficient versions of both.” I refilled our coffee mugs; Laguna absently added another hit of Thom’s brew to both. It wasn’t like either of us were driving, or in any real danger of attack. And the toffee apple adding richness without being overly sweet. 

“Hey, your mom could take over the world based on her organizational skills alone, but she still liked to know I appreciated her presence.” Laguna rarely spoke of Raine, and I didn’t like to ask, so each offhand comment was a tiny jewel of information for me. Predictably, his smile turned wistful.

“Do you want me to start chopping the onions for the dressing while you are slacking?”

“Hmm? No, we have a machine for that, no more tears!” Laguna pointed with my camera to what looked like a poorly designed stainless steel bread box. “And I’m not slacking, I’m absorbing valuable reconnoiter about my more rural constituents. Do the celery, the strings bog up the machine.”

I rolled my eyes and got back to work, half listening to Laguna’s running commentary of things like “Nice costumes. Look at those smiles! That is a big damn pumpkin. Who’s the little red head with the glasses?”

“That’s Seifer’s youngest, Samantha. She’s ...dramatic.”

“It’s the age, Ellie was, too. Love the hat.”

“The lady bugs? Lady Bug is Sam’s family nickname.”

“That’s cute but I meant yours.”

I abandoned the celery to come look. I’d forgotten that Morgan’s camera could sync shots with mine and we’d shared. Most of hers were a little off center and out of focus, but she got a couple good ones. One of those was Seifer and me fighting with the giant cotton ear buds on the log. I had also forgotten I was wearing a pirate hat, complete with skull and cross bones and long curly feather. 

“It was a Faire thing,” I said weakly. At least Seifer was wearing the silly fake horned helm. The sad thing was, Seifer looked good in a helmet with horns on it. I looked like a lunatic. 

“I want this pic.”

“How much will it cost me to make sure no one else sees it?”

Laguna grinned. “Hell no. It’s going on my desk in a frame.”

Alarmed, I said, “You can’t, he’s the Sorceress’ Knight. Someone will recognize him.” 

“Not too damn many people actually see my desk, Squall. Anyway, if anyone asks, I’ll say it was cosplay from a Storm of SeeD episode.”

I stared at him, trying to wrap my mind around the idea of me cosplaying a character based on me. 

“Anyway, it’s not like he lives in a hole, he’s right there at the Faire in front of Hyne and everyone, kicking your ass.”

“That ended in a draw, the game was called due to a sudden intense need for ice cream by his eldest.” I sipped my coffee. “Is there a Seifer character now?”

“Previews are hinting at one.” 

Considerably cheered by imagining Seifer’s reactions to that, I fished around in my duffle for my phone. “I have a few more pictures on this, too.” The phone had a message waiting. “Do you mind?”

“No, go ahead, if it’s the school district and you have to be back by Monday, we need to know.”

“Why? What have you gotten me into?”

Laguna flashed me a wicked grin. “There’s that formal tea with the Shumite Envoy.”

“I have to be back at work Monday,” I said firmly. The Shumi were wonderful people - with the exception of Norg - but their tea tasted like boiled mushrooms and the accompanying formal dance was at best, tedious. Laguna claimed it was more interesting once you were familiar with the story and the meanings of the gestures in each set. Kiros said Laguna donned the formal eyeshields and slept through it. 

The message was from Seifer: an uncharacteristically terse “If you are still in town, call me.”

“I’m not still in town,” I said when he picked up. “I’m in my father’s kitchen in Esthar. What’s up?”

“Squall?” Seifer said, sounding distracted. “Oh, hey, you made good time. I didn’t mean to bother you on your holiday. Wish your dad a happy from us, okay?”

“Seifer.”

The name caught Laguna’s attention, but he politely went to check the tarts.

“No, seriously, Squall, have a good dinner. Call me when you get back in town - you coming back Sunday?”

“Yes, but late.” There was none of the background noise I expected from hearing about the horde at Turtle Bay. “Where are you?”

“In my kitchen, trying to figure out what to feed the girls since every store is closed for the holiday and we are out of damn near everything.”

Because why would Seifer stock up when he wasn’t going to be home for four days? “I thought you were going up to Turtle Bay today.” The traffic might actually be less on the day itself, but that was a long drive with two little girls who would arrive too tired and excited to enjoy an elaborate dinner.

Seifer huffed a humorless laugh. “That got cancelled.”

“What? How?”

“Jamie.”

“I repeat, ‘what? How?’”

There was a click, like a cupboard being closed. “Jamie and I are fighting for custody of Sami. She - her lawyer - convinced a judge in Rocky Valley that I was a flight risk.”

“Rocky Valley? That’s not even the right County seat.”

“No one in town would fall for it.”

“Of course not, you have a home, a business. It’s ridiculous. The judge thinks you are going to abandon everything and run away, leaving your daughters?”

“No, the judge thinks I’m going to abandon everything and run away with my daughters. They don’t give a shit about Morgan but now I can’t take Samantha out of city limits without Jamie’s written permission.”

“Start at the beginning,” I commanded. 

“Had the car mostly loaded, was out front checking some things. At 11:55 this morning a guy I know from the Peace Enforcers dropped by, handed me some official papers, apologized, and left. By the way, all City offices, including the Courts, closed at noon today.”

“She planned it?”

“I wasn’t sure but Thom said there wasn’t anything he could do until Monday soonest and that if I did try to take Samantha, even though the whole thing is bullshit, I would probably spend the weekend in jail. So I called Jamie to try and get her written permission. Worth a try, right?”

Guessing, I said, “She said ‘no’?”

“She answered the phone with ‘Of course the girls are welcome to eat with us. Tell them to wear their new dresses and Pete will be over to pick them at 11.’”

“She planned it.” It surprised me how angry I was on Seifer’s behalf. Laguna noticed it too; he slid over a fresh cup of coffee. This one had considerably more of Thom’s homebrew in it. I drank it anyway. “There’s nothing you can do?”

“I could go anyway, but it’s not worth the risk. Hyne knows what they’d find out if they ran my history. Thom would never get me out of jail.” Seifer sighed. “It’s not the end of the world, but goddamn, Jamie fucking ruined Family Day for us and she not only did it deliberately, she planned for it to go just like this. And the part that bites my ass the most is she will get what she wants.”

“No way.”

“What can I do, Squall? The girls gotta eat, may as well have the four star gourmet over achievement Jamie has planned.”

“Hyne, that sucks.”

“Tell me about it. I don’t know what was worse, telling the girls or telling Fuu.”

I winced. “She didn’t take it well?” I could imagine Morgan’s opinion of the situation. 

This laugh had more humor to it. “Fuu never liked Jamie, even back when I still thought I did. Let’s just say it’s a good thing you can’t cast long distance or there would be several unexplained tornadoes hitting a certain neighborhood.”

“There still could be blizzards,” I growled, sharing Seifer’s frustration. Shiva agreed.

“If I have to play nice, you have to play nice. And speaking of playing hardball...”

I made an encouraging noise and let Laguna warm up my cup.

“Thom pointed out that this court order could go both ways. Jamie, who is planning on moving to Esthar right after the New Year, wouldn’t be able to take Samantha out of town without my written permission.”

Smiling, I said, “Which she isn’t going to get?”

“Oh, I dunno. How cold are your feet? You think Hell is frozen solid yet or are there still a few balmy spots?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ginger Pumpkin Pie
> 
> Gingersnap pie crust 
> 
> 1-1/2 cups crushed gingersnaps (reduce to crumbs) You can use a cheap brand, but eat one first. If it has no flavor, you will want to add a little ground ginger to the crumbs - half a teaspoon or so.
> 
> 3 Tbsp. sugar
> 
> 6 Tbsp. melted butter
> 
> Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Combine all ingredients in medium bowl. Press into greased 9" pie pan. Bake at 350 degrees F for 10 minutes, until crust is set. Remove from oven and cool completely before filling.
> 
> Ginger Honey Pumpkin Pie
> 
> 1 15-ounce can pure pumpkin You can use homemade pumpkin puree but who has time for that?
> 
> 1/2 cup (packed) golden brown sugar
> 
> 1/3 cup honey
> 
> 3 large eggs
> 
> 1 1/4 cups whipping cream
> 
> 1 tablespoon finely grated peeled fresh ginger You can go a little over here but the ginger flavor gets stronger the longer the pie cools. So if you make it a day ahead, beware. Unless you are nuts for ginger, then go wild
> 
> 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
> 
> 1/4 teaspoon salt
> 
> Whisk pumpkin, sugar, and honey in large bowl. Whisk in eggs 1 at a time. Whisk in 1 1/4 cups cream, ginger, cinnamon, and salt. Pour into crust. Bake pie in preheated 375 degree F oven until set, covering edges with foil collar if browning too fast, about 60 minutes. Cool. Serve at room temperature with whipped cream.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family Day with the Almasys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for not giving up on me.

Being a parent is weird. 

Everyone starts out with no damn idea what they’ve gotten themselves into. Sure, there are books and classes and people, some total strangers, will be happy to offer advice. But it’s a lot like trying to learn to swim by reading a book. No matter how expert the author is, until you are wet and flailing around, you just have no idea what to expect.

They hand you a squirming bundle and cheerfully tell you the kid is utterly dependent on you for its very life. And by the way, all its unlimited potential for good or evil or even happiness is largely hinged on your ability to make good life choices. If I were any good at that, Morgan and Samantha wouldn’t even exist. 

I don’t want to go into a long hairy discussion of what makes a good parent. I know biology isn’t a factor - Thom and Ruth are awesome parents and Solange, not so much. Jamie feels that until I make my own pasta out of organically grown wheat from my own garden, I am a failure as a father. Fuu feels that if Rai brings both boys home alive at the end of the day, he’s doing fine. 

One thing parenting does is change you. Prior to Morgan there was no chance I’d take the blame for something that wasn’t my fault. Certainly not for someone who wasn’t even on my squad.

But Jamie was already trying to split up the family and I wasn’t going to let her drive a wedge between Morgan and Samantha. So I blamed “something coming up at work” rather than “Jamie showing her ass” for cancelling the trip. That’s why I was currently getting dark looks and the cold shoulder from two little girls who were pouting as only thwarted little girls can pout. You could balance a grand piano on Sami’s lower lip. If Morgan rolled her eyes any harder she’d fall over. Personally, I passed the point of sulking over the injustice of it all and moved on to more practical issues.

We really didn’t have any food in the house. Nothing you could eat, anyway. There’s always food of sorts lurking around - a partial box of whole wheat bumbleberry pancake mix, a half a jar of peanut butter, a sack of frozen green beans, a dusty can of chicken noodle soup, some condiments including a jar of those horrible green olives with the red shit in them. Not to mention an entire cupboard devoted to stale and faintly radioactive cereals bought purely for their prizes.

Squall would know how to make a four star dinner out of this crap. Or at least something edible. But he didn’t answer my text.

After we finally did talk I was so chuffed by Squall being so firmly on my side I decided to give dinner another try. I chose the bumbleberry mix on the theory that pancakes for dinner was kind of festive and carbs make kids go to sleep so maybe I’d be spared an hour or so of death glares. The box said I needed milk, oil, and egg, none of which we had. It said we could use nonfat milk and since that crap is just water with some white paint stirred in, I used water. I figured the oil was just to moisten it up more so I added more water. The egg was a lost cause so what the hell, more water. The result resembled no pancake I’d ever seen but it smelled like bumbleberries so I called the girls to the table.

Morgan gave her plate the evil eye. “What is this?”

“Crepes!” I lied. I took a big bite and managed not to change expression. I did mentally change the name - to ‘craps’.

Samantha, always game, tried cutting it with her fork to get a taste. She ended up holding most of the mess down with her left hand as she ripped off a sample. She put it in her mouth and gave me a look of pure betrayal. I leaned over quickly, holding up my napkin; she didn’t need any encouragement to spit it out. “I don’t like crepes!” Sami wailed.

I am a picky eater because I can afford to be, but there were a lot of times in my life when the choice for meals was ‘take it or leave it’ and I… ok, I left it. I set my plate aside. “We’ll just mark that experiment down as a failure.”

Pushing her untouched plate away, Morgan said darkly, “Let us never speak of this again.”

Samantha started sobbing. I finally worked out she was saying something about “gruel” and “being poor”. There was more - “being brave” and “selling her dolls to help make ends meet”. I didn’t know if I should laugh or be offended by the idea I couldn’t support my own children. After all, Garden instilled the one always marketable skill - the ability to set aside feelings and morals and kill some poor bastard for money. Feeding my kids was never going to be a problem. Unless every damn store and restaurant in the area was closed for a holiday.

“I wish Uncle Mister Leon was here!”

“Me too,” Morgan sighed. “He’d’ve brung cake.”

“Were here,” I corrected automatically. “Have brought,” I added less confidently. Riffling through my memory for irregular verbs countered the sting of the girls crying for Squall a little bit. That and the fact that I was wishing for him, too. He wouldn’t have made bumbleberry craps. “Baby, we aren’t poor! Your pop just didn’t plan on cooking this weekend.”

“We don’t have to eat gruel?” Sami sniffed.

“Do you even know what gruel is?” 

Morgan rolled her eyes and went to peruse the cupboards.

“It’s what you eat when you are poor or in the dungeon. You get it in a big can, probably.” Samantha wiped her eyes and nose with the backs of her hands, then daintily wiped them on her paper napkin.

“It’s probably made of dirt and rat feet,” Morgan said ghoulishly, bringing the peanut butter to the table.

“You might be right, but I think it’s really a sort of extra watery oatmeal with no salt or sugar.” I watched my little Boss take over dinner.

“That’s ok if you have cinnamon and apple chunks or raisins or brown sugar and lots of milk and butter. But no dirt or rat feet, ick.”

“You hate oatmeal. You both hate it. You wouldn’t even eat it for Storm of Seed and he had gummy moombas.”

“That stuff was nasty, Daddy. We need something to smear the peanut butter on. Are we out of bread?”

“Well, duh, it was oatmeal. Yeah we are, Boss. We don’t even have crackers.”

“I don’t hate oatmeal as much as I hate crepes,” Sami said. “So don’t use those.”

“There isn’t enough peanut butter in the world to make me eat crepes.”

“You might like them if they were made right.” Nor not. I’d always preferred the fluffier, thicker, classic pancake that soaked up butter and syrup.

“If Uncle Squall made them, you mean.” Morgan peered in the fridge.

Scolding, Sami said, “He’s Uncle Mr Leon. He’s a teacher. You can’t call a teacher by their name!”

Inspiration hit. “Did you girls eat your snacks out of the trip kits?”

“Apples and peanut butter!” Sami jumped up and ran to the foyer where we’d left most of the luggage piled up in disgust.

Her sister followed her and my girls returned with a bounty of apples, raisins, and tiny cheese flavored crackers shaped like chocobos. That meant the chicken noodle soup could be breakfast - I decided I’d throw the green beans in there for extra vitamins - and Jamie would provide lunch and no doubt leftovers for dinner. Saturday everything would be open again and we could have breakfast at Pancake Barn and hit the grocery store. Saved!

We moved to the den and settled by the fire to watch a classic Family Day movie broadcast. Something about a kid trying to adopt a newly hatched T-Rexaur and learning about acceptance and prejudice and, I assume, apologizing to the neighbors when the goddamn thing ate their pets and slow running relatives. The stop motion animation saved the flick by being laughably bad. That, and the fact that Squall started texting me and I ended up missing most of it. 

Father asserts relatives ruining holidays is tradition in most families.

That’s why I don’t have any, I texted back.

Details coming in now confirm advantages of being an orphan. 

Later, after I explained the horrible truth about T-Rexaurs and why we couldn’t keep one as a pet, I got:

Unsolicited info dump reveals vindictive exes also typical. Congratulations, you have achieved new status: Normal. 

Fuck normal, I replied, and went to herd the girls to bed.

 

I waited until the next morning to broach the next phase of ‘Morgan Almasy’s Crappiest Family Day to Date’. I wasn’t looking forward to this talk; among other things it’s embarrassing to lose an argument with a 7 year old. However, my eldest was sharp enough to work out that if we were eating chicken noodle breakfast, the choices for the dinner feast were not good, so maybe I could talk her into seeing the logic of humoring Jamie with the whole dress and dinner gig.

“No. No way. Not a chance!”

“Boss, you have to eat -”

“I would rather sit in a puddle and eat a bug!”

“Oh, Boss, you don’t mean that!” Samantha, shocked. “You’d get dirty. Besides, bugs don’t taste good. Not even the pretty ones that look like candy.”

“Is this a recent discovery, Lady Bug?” Time for another call to my buddies at Poison Control. I reached for the phone, trying to remember survival training and if the bright colored insects were the ones that were ok or deadly. I hadn’t paid all that much attention to Quistis’ lecture as I’d already worked out there was nothing on the planet that could coherence me into eating something with that many legs. I’d eat my own toes, first. 

“Oh no, Daddy, that was ages ago when I was a baby. I don’t eat things that are still alive now.”

Since Sami was still a baby, ages ago could have been yesterday. Was there an insect that, if ingested, could work like a slow acting poison? She looked healthy, true, and had probably had an esuna or two between now and the actual bug eating, but parental minds need to know these things. I decided Raijin would could tell me. He had a degree in creepy multi-legged things, time to put it to practical use.

Morgan took advantage of the distraction to storm down the hall and slam the door to their room. 

What the hell, Sam wasn’t dead yet but Hyne knew what Morgan would do during a temper tantrum. “Don’t eat dead bugs either, Lady Bug. Why don’t you go make sure we have clean towels in the bathroom and pick out today’s bubble bath while I see if I can talk your sister into wearing a dress.”

“Good luck with that,” Sami said seriously. She even shook my hand before trotting away shaking her head. 

It was ominously quiet in their room. I took a deep breath. C’mon, I told myself. You’ve stared down Squall. What can a seven year old do? She can’t even lift a gunblade. I knocked once and went in. 

Morgan had pulled the gold dress off the hanger and was looking at it with loathing. Without turning around, she said, “I’m not stupid.”

I sat on the edge of Sami’s bed. “Who said you were?”

“If you had to work, you’d’ve gone to work. You haven’t even been on your laptop.”

Busted. 

She threw the dress on the floor. “Why did Jamie have to ruin everything?”

“She doesn’t understand she did.” I sighed and started lining up Sami’s dolls. “It’s Family Day. Momma Jamie knows she cooks a great feast, and she really really wanted to share it with you girls.”

“She’s not family! She doesn’t know anything about family! Jamie gets an F in family!”

“I know she’s not very good at family, Boss. That’s why we have to teach her to be better.”

“I don’t want her to get better! I want her to go away! I want her to die!”

“But Sami doesn’t.” Morgan looked at me sharply so I continued, “I didn’t want to dump this on you so soon, you are still a little kid.”

“No, I’m not!” Then: “What? Dump what?”

I patted the bed beside me but Morgan chose to sit on her own bed, facing me. That worked. “You are the oldest. The thing is… stuff comes with being the oldest. You get perks, you do things first, you get stuff first.”

Morgan nodded. She remembered Sami trying to follow her to school “like a big girl”.

“But you also have to do stuff. You have responsibilities. See, no matter what you and Samantha do with your lives, she is always going to be your little sister. Whether she wants you to or not, you are always going to be looking out for her. That’s just how it is.”

“Well, ok. So what?”

“Sometimes part of looking out for someone is doing things you don’t want to do just to make them happy.”

We waited while Morgan digested that. “But Sami wanted to go to Turtle Bay, too!”

“I know, but she also wants to make her momma happy and wear pretty clothes.”

“Can’t Sami go to her stinky old mom’s and us go to Turtle Bay?”

“That’s not very fair to Samantha.”

“It’s not fair I have to miss Aunt Fu and the beach and wear a dress!” Morgan jumped to her feet and started pacing.

“No, Boss, it sucks.” I watched her prowl around the room. Down the hall, I could hear Sami singing a commercial jingle about baby soap for soapy babies.

“I never get to do what I want,” Morgan wailed.

“Yeah, that happens sometimes when you love someone. Thing is, what’s worse than not getting to do what you want is doing what you want and finding out it makes someone you love unhappy.” I was feeling very proud of my fatherly wisdom until Morgan’s eyes narrowed.

“Does Jamie know that?”

Uhtoh. 

Morgan continued, “Because she’s not very good at family and we have to teach her, right?”

“By setting a good example,” I said, scrambling for lost ground.

“Examples, yeah,” my eldest said dreamily.

“Morgan…”

The water cut on. There are few things more worrisome than hearing a lot of running water when your preschooler is alone in the bathroom. I got to my feet. 

“Are you okay, Lady Bug?” I called.

“What is she doing?” her more suspicious sister demanded, heading out the door.

I followed. “She’s setting up so you guys can bathe and get ready for the feast.”

Morgan glared at me. “You let her pick out the bubble bath? Now we’re both going to smell like a princess’s ass!”

“Oops,” Sami said. “Oh no!” She giggled.

My eldest beat me to the bathroom only because she had a slight head start. 

“I dropped the bubble bath and then I couldn’t find it in the bubbles!” Sami even had suds in her hair.

“...that’s a lot of bubbles,” I managed. They were crawling up the tub area walls and starting to spill over onto the floor. 

“You used my bubble bath?” Morgan roared. “That was a brand new bottle!”

Come to notice, the place did smell overpoweringly of green apple. 

“You don’t like mine and I wanted to make you happy!”

“Don’t touch my stuff!” Morgan gave her little sister a halfhearted slug on the arm. “Hyne on the half shell!” She put her hands on her hips, eyed the mess, and grinned. “Do you think we could float on them?”

Sami, who had been rubbing her arm and considering crying, brightened up. “Maybe?”

“Turn off the water before it slops over the side. Be careful getting in or out because I will point and laugh before taking you to the emergency room. Make sure you get all the bubbles off your skin so you don’t itch later.” I closed the door and sighed. That was my holiday afternoon taken care of, then. I would be mopping the walls and probably most of the hallway. 

It took a while but I did eventually get my girls rinsed, dried, and dressed. They lined up in the living room, still smelling strongly of apples, so I could admire. 

Jamie had gone all out for her daughter and Sami was glowing with delight in her rose velvet dress. She had a matching hair band with a fabric rose on it, and those white tights and black shiny shoes required for all little girl’s formal wear. 

In her defense, Jamie probably would had done the same for Morgan had she allowed it, but I knew my girl and Morgan most likely said “Yeah, dress, whatever, I’ll be over in sporting goods.” The gold dress did look amazing on her, though, and considering the weather the cowboy boots were not a bad idea. At Sami’s suggestion we went with a high pony tail for Morgan’s long blonde hair and shockingly she even agreed to a bow. That is, she brought me some leopard print shoelaces from her collection and I did my best.

They were so adorable I had to get a picture. Morgan rolled her eyes but I explained, “I need the proof. Your Aunt Fu bet me 5 gil I’d never get you in a dress.”

“I get half!”

“Me too, I get half too!” Fractions were not Samantha’s long suit. Or maybe they were. Hmm. 

“Twenty percent each and that’s my final offer.” I snapped the pic and when I checked the screen, I knew it was going to be on my desk or by my bed for the rest of my life. Sami was beaming and Morgan, smiling indulgently, had draped her good arm around her little sister’s shoulders. It must have been the crappy weather or something because looking at it made me feel alarmingly sentimental and schmoopy. My baby girls, they grew up so fast.

It was a relief to hear Professor Prick’s imperious honk from the driveway. “Man has no manners,” I muttered, wrestling the girls into their coats.

“Be good while we’re gone,” Sami chirped, charging out the door to greet her mother’s husband.

I stopped Morgan as she followed. “Whatever you are planning, don’t do it.”

Morgan shifted rapidly from guilt stricken to sly. “What?” She said, all innocence.

Ordinarily I find this hilarious but not today. I knew Morgan was seriously angry about having her holiday switched up. The dress and bow simply confirmed she was up to something. 

Pete, who had all the patience of a whistling teakettle, honked again. I barely resisted the urge to give him the finger. 

“Seriously. Don’t start something you aren’t going to like how it finishes.”

“But I didn’t start it,” Morgan said smugly as she ran out the door. “Jamie did!”

 

 

It was hard for me to spare much sympathy for Jamie as I mopped the girls’ bathroom. Once I was done, logic dictated that I take advantage of the peace and quiet to get a couple more chores out of the way. 

Instead I texted Squall a lame “Happy Family Day”.

Remains to be seen.

“Trouble in Paradise?” 

For reasons never clearly defined, there is a theme each year for Family Day attire. This year it is ‘sleepwear’. Currently mediating discussion as to whether a McMoogle’s hat could be legitimately considered compliant. 

Just to mess with him, I typed back, “Don’t you sleep in the nude?”

After a brief pause I got: Father does.

“Better let him keep the hat, then.”

A slightly longer pause while I envisioned Squall rolling his eyes. The Whatever I got in response was totally worth it. 

As fun as it was to mess with Squall - some things never get old- he had stuff to do and I, alas, did not. I explored my feast options, which came down to stale kid’s cereal my own flesh and blood would not touch, olives with red shit in them I would not touch, or the rest of the peanut butter and a spoon. That big decision out of the way, I spared a moment to grumble about people who run take out places having lives of their own and not staying open to cater to friendless bastards who were hungry. 

I moped around a while and had almost talked myself into doing some actual work when there was a knock at the door. I told myself it couldn’t be pizza but if it was, I was going to bribe the delivery person to give it to me. If I had to pay 50 gil. Even if I had to pick little dead fish and fungus off it. 

Most likely it was someone’s out of town kinfolk who were lost. Or a neighbor foolishly hoping I could spare a cup of milk. Whoever it was, they better have a couple minutes to spare because I was so lonely I’d even chat up the Jenova’s Witnesses. 

I opened the door to find a little boy on the doorstep, and if I didn’t know better I would have said he was Fu and Rai’s youngest. 

“Unca Seifer!” He grabbed me around the legs and hugged. I patted his back, blinking stupidly while he grinned. The stalemate was solved by Fu, who bustled up, her arms full of insulated bags. “Don’t just stand there, Seifer, go help!” We both snapped to, because yes, they did name the poor kid after me.

There was a vibrantly yellow minbus parked in the drive, hidden from the front door by the jutting edge of the garage. Raijin and his older son, Tane, were busy unloading a terrifying amount of bundles and shopping bags.

I ruffled Tane’s hair, getting his shy smile in return, and then reached over and grabbed as many packages as I could. Rai loaded up his sons with lighter stuff and then laughed at my shell shocked expression. 

Making sure the boys were out of range I asked, “Rai… what the fuck?”

“Family Day, you know?” He expertly untied the knots holding some great wad onto the roof of the bus. 

“Well, yeah, but…”

Rai turned to me and said seriously, “You’re family.”

Good thing it was raining. I managed a manly bump to his shoulder; Rai, who has never been fooled by me, pulled me into a bear hug. 

He let me go when my spine started creaking, and added, “Fuujin was coming anyway, you know? Only took a little while to talk her into coming here instead of hunting down Jamie and blowing her to Trabia. Cheaper, you know?”

“I know. Good job, great to see ya, Buddy.” 

We ferried in enough food for a small army and then my brain kicked in. I backed my truck out so Raijin could park in the garage and we could finish unloading out of the rain. Not that it mattered because as soon as we were done he went around back to fire up my barbeque. Rai is the only one who can cook seafood I’ll eat, with some sort of rum, peppers and mango topping. Not that I wouldn’t rather eat the sauce without the fish, but sacrifices must be made. I took him a beer, left over from Squall and my aborted attempt to watch sports, and left the master to his craft.

I found Fu busy cramming things into my fridge. Fortunately there was plenty of room. I dared a quick buss on the cheek. “You and Rai take my room, I’ll sleep on the couch and the boys can have my office.”

“They’ll sleep on the floor by the fire with you. Where are my girls?” She briskly unwrapped two pies and set the oven to preheat. 

Guiltily I said, “With Sami’s mother. They will be stuffed when they get home, sorry.”

Fu scoffed. “They’ll be starving. Jamie doesn’t cook food, she does presentations.” 

True, but I’d hoped there’d be something the girls could eat. Now I didn’t care because I could already smell Rai’s mother’s famous goose gravy warming on the stove. 

“I can’t believe you loaded up Rai and the boys and the whole feast and drove 3 hours in the pissing rain.”

Fu gave me a look. “Because you are a dumbass. Some things are important. And once I told Momma-” that would be Rai’s mother as Fu, like me, was an orphan - “and she told the entire clan, they brought over so much food we barely had enough room in the ‘bus to fit the boys in.”

Stunned, I said, “They like us that much?”

“They hate Jamie that much. Go entertain your nephews.”

Taking the hint, I left Fu happily organizing and reheating casseroles and things. Neither of us were exactly gourmet cooks - Rai did most of the cooking when he was home- but we were both champs at nuking and baking premade stuff. 

I found the boys in the girl’s room, supremely unimpressed by Sami’s dolls and Morgan’s chocobos. They were quibbling without enthusiasm about which board game to play. I sat on the floor and demanded they tell me all the news. 

Being an honorary uncle is great. I love the boys, they love me, and I don’t have to make the proper parental responses to comments like how their newest cousin is boring (“It just lays there waving its arms.”) and is a girl to boot. I can agree that it’s completely unfair you have to be at least ten to get your own canoe. Plus family or not, we have no genetic ties whatsoever, so if 20 years down the road one of my girls wanted to marry one of their “cousins” I wouldn’t have to worry about my grandchildren. Or my in-laws. 

Tane was about six months younger than Morgan, something she lorded over him as much as possible. Seif came along a mere 14 months after Tane, which left Sami the youngest by another year or so. They got along about as well as you’d expect - fiercely loyal to each other and constantly fighting. 

I learned early on why parents tend to let their kids squabble without interfering. When children are screaming things like “I told you this side of the line is MY room” you know 1) where they are and 2) what they are most likely up to. Bliss. 

It’s quiet you learn to fear. If they aren’t sleeping, odds are they are doing something dangerous and/or expensive. I’m still recovering from finding Morgan and my tool kit under the bathroom sink. Other people’s kids drink the toilet cleaner. Mine tries to remove the sink trap.

The boys were getting restless so I suggested a game of hallway handball. We were making so much noise it took a bit before I realized the phone was ringing - I’d set it aside for safety - and it was Squall’s ringtone. Calling a timeout, I got to the kitchen just as Fu barked, “Squall! Think!”

She cut the speaker on so we all heard Squall say wonderingly, “Fuujin? They made it to Turtle Bay after all?”

“If the fish won’t come to the fisherman, then the fisherman must go to the fish.”

“Hey Squall,” I said, to let him know he was on speaker. “You done with your feast already?”

“No, but nothing needed my attention.” So he thought he’d call to make sure I was alright. 

Fu broke in, asking the usual catching up questions as she cooked. Rai came in after more of his famous marinade and the boys, curious, wandered up and asked why everyone was in the kitchen. 

“That’s Squall on the phone, an old friend of ours,” I explained. 

“Storm of SeeD?” Tane asked, not hearing me correctly. Squall made this hilarious growly groan while we laughed. 

Inspired, I said, “Squall, you and your dad should join us next year. The food is fantastic.”

“Yes, please come,” Fu added.

Squall hesitated. “It’s more than just my father and me,” he said apologetically. I’d been envisioning him and his dad cooking in a tiny apartment and eating on a card table, but who knew? The old man couldn’t have been living in a hole all those years, after all. Squall might even have siblings. Mind blown.

“If there are less than ten, bring them,” Fu said. 

“If there are more than ten,” Rai said, “come anyway. Just bring camping gear, you know?”

My phone chirped, indicating a call waiting. “I bet that’s Jamie, Squall, sorry. I better grab that.”

He signed off, promising to pitch the invite to his relatives, and we chorused “Happy Family Day!” to each other. 

I picked up my phone, punched the button to connect and was greeting with “Thanks for ruining Family Day, you son of a bitch!”

“What the fuck?” I retorted intelligently, forgetting little ears could hear me. 

Jamie sounded near tears. “That monster of yours has always been a migraine in cowboy boots but I don’t appreciate you poisoning my own daughter against me!”

The air pressure dropped so fast my ears popped. I had forgotten we were still on speaker, so Fu, Rai and the boys heard every word. Fu, eyes blazing, reached for the phone, which I instinctively held out of her reach. It was a bad move, because she was going to kick me in the ankles in a second. If I was lucky.

“I never-” I started lamely, eyeing Fu. Her hair was starting to blow around. Could she summon Pandemona right here in the kitchen? Of course she could. Would she? 

“Dinner is ruined, the whole holiday is ruined, you bastard, Pete is bringing the girls to you right now and I wish you joy of them, you son of a bitch, you can keep them both until they learn how to behave in civilized society which will be nev-”

Rai reached over my shoulder, plucked the phone out of my hand, and turned it off. Then he put it in his pocket. We all stared at him in the sudden silence. 

“Girls are coming home, you know? Bus is in the garage. We should hide and surprise them.”

It wasn’t Jamie screwing up our holiday plans, or even cussing me out that had Fuujin so hot. It was that she dared to bad mouth Morgan. I was more than a bit ticked off myself, and Rai had to remind us both that Jamie was pregnant and neither a tornado hit nor the house burning down would be good for the baby. Plus there was no reason to ruin the Rescue and First Responders’ holidays by creating work for them. He also reminded us that while calling around to all the family to raise bail was kind of a holiday tradition in Turtle Bay, it wasn’t a good one. 

So we took things off the fire, moved shoes and other telltale signs, and I ambled out front to wait for the girls while Fuu, Rai, Tane and Seif discussed the best places to hide. 

Pete pulled up a little too fast, nearly clipping my truck. The girls bailed out. Sami looked like she had been crying; Morgan was defiant and smug. I knew I’d have to address what went on eventually, but what the hell, it was Family Day and my family was together at last. I found myself thinking next year would be even better, with Squall and his group along.

“You girls run on inside out of the rain,” I told them. They sprinted for the door. 

Pete rolled down his window and good manners forced me to come closer to thank him for chauffeuring my girls. I leaned down and got a whiff of brandy so what came out of my mouth was not thank you but “You are fucking drinking with my kids in the car?” I was going to kill him. 

In his snotty and I suspect fake posh accent Pete said, “I needed it to survive the trip.” He took a swig from a flask; with a pull like that there couldn’t be much left in the slim container. “I’m surprised you aren’t drunk all the time, living with those little demons.”

Pulling the pompous ass out through the window and beating some sense into him would be the most satisfying option, but all Rai’s arguments against violence still held. I could call the cops as soon as Pete pulled out of the drive and let Jamie call around for bail money. Except she’d call me and I’d have to pay it.

I heard squeals of delight from the house - “Tane! Uncle Rai!” “You are wearing a dress!” “Aunt Fu! Seif!” “Surprise! Happy Family Day!” and I thought, “What the hell, it’s Family Day, I have what I want, I’ll let it go for now.” Jamie and I would have a talk about Pete drinking and driving with the girls in the car later, and that was one conversation I was sure we’d both be on the same page for. Jamie had her faults but was generally no fool about Sami’s safety. 

I cast Esuna to sober Pete up enough to keep him from being a menace to the others on the road. He still had what was left in the flask but it wasn’t far his condo so hopefully Pete would be home before he was over the limit. He shot me a narrow eyed look; I gave him my best “They’ll never find your body” grin. Pete threw the car in reverse and I headed to my front door, happy as a kid in a cake shop. 

Life was good, Family Day was finally as it should be, and all was right in the world. I stepped inside just in time for Fu, who was helping Morgan take off her coat, to exclaim in her old Garden voice, “Broke Arm?!”

Oops. Maybe I’d forgotten to mention that in all the excitement.


	15. Chapter 15 Family Day at the Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pointing the nutcracker at him, I said, “No Politicalese in the kitchen.”

I hung up from talking to Seifer after promising I’d be over on Sunday to help the Almasy family cook a proper feast. Laguna overheard and might have been slightly disappointed I was leaving earlier than originally planned. He should have known better than to threaten me with the Shumites.

Laguna, perhaps sensing my mood, suggested I shell the walnuts and pecans for the fruit salad. I fumed silently for a while, unreasonably annoyed with Jamie for spoiling Seifer and the girls’ holiday. After hitting the tenth nut too hard and breaking the meat along with the shell, I burst out, “Can’t you do something?”

Mildly, Laguna replied, “I’m shelling peas.” And eating about every third one.

“About Seifer.”

“What’s he done now?”

I scoffed. There was a mindset about the Palace to blame random things on Sorceresses or Seifer, but generally Laguna was too smart to participate. I knew social convention dictated he pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping but I also knew my father.

“Seifer’s ex got a court order forbidding him from taking their child out of the area without her permission.”

“Placemats? Lady Bug?”

“Yes, Jamie. The younger girl, Samantha, is hers. ...I don’t know where Morgan’s mother is.”

“I think that sort of court order is a very common, standard thing. People will and do kidnap their own children to prevent the other spouse from having access. Occasionally for good reason but mainly for spite.” Laguna set the peas aside and made another pot of coffee.

“It’s ridiculous to think that Seifer would abandon his home, business and responsibilities and uproot both his children just to thwart his ex-wife.”

“You’d be surprised what a person will do if he thinks his kids are in danger.”

“If Seifer thought Jamie was a sincere threat to his daughters he’d just kill her.”

Laguna winced. “I try to forget your refreshingly efficient methods of dealing with social issues.”

Pointing the nutcracker at him, I said, “No Politicalese in the kitchen.”

Laguna rolled his eyes and poured us both fresh cups of coffee, adding a healthy hit of Thom Howard’s moonshine. I continued my briefing.

“Seifer and the girls were going up to Turtle Bay to spend the holiday with some friends from Garden, Fuujin and Raijin Windhover.”

“Weren’t they with him during the war?”

“Laguna. That was years ago.”

“You know, I had to pardon most of the villagers in that area for piracy, smuggling, and random acts of treason.”

“Against Adel.” I sipped my coffee.

“Um.” Wisely changing the subject, Laguna commented, “Still not seeing what you want me to do about it.”

“Can’t you countermand the court order?”

Laguna rinsed the peas and started on the lemon garlic sauce. “Not really. We have these cool things called laws, with judges and courts and stuff, to handle that.”

“Allow me to rephrase. Countermand the court order.” When Laguna shot me an arch look I added, “Please.”

“Squall, when Kiros comes in I could have him get all the peacekeeper commanders in the area out of bed and tell them to issue instructions to their men _not_ to enforce a court order. I could hunt up the judge who signed it and do the same. But there is no guarantee the message would get to everyone in the field in time and therefore the odds are still good that Seifer would spend the weekend in jail and the girls would be in a receiving home.”

Laguna ground some fresh pepper over the sauce and added, “Even if it were countermanded, what is Seifer going to do? Drive up in the middle of the night and yell ‘Surprise’? I imagine he already cancelled with his friends.”

“I don’t like it that Jamie gets away with ruining Family Day.”

“Family Day hasn’t even happened yet.” Laguna leaned against the counter. “And ‘ruin’ seems an extravagant term.”

“It is ruined because instead of spending the holiday at the beach with friends and near family eating a giant feast, they are stuck at home. Since there is no food in the house, Seifer is going to send the girls to Jamie for the meal.” It really bothered me, Seifer being alone on the holiday.

“Placemats isn’t exactly a stranger to the girls. And your pal Seifer is a big boy, he’ll survive.”

I picked what nutmeats were usable out of the mess I’d made. Laguna was correct, but I didn’t have to like it. “It’s the principle of the thing,” I said lamely.

He laughed. “The principle of the thing is always money or revenge.” He sampled the sauce, made a face, and offered me the spoon. I refused. Waving the spoon around, Laguna continued, “Didn’t you tell me what you kids really wanted was to be normal? Well, nothing is more normal than a relative or ex showing ass at a big family reunion.”

“That doesn’t happen to us.” Laguna and the others could be annoying but no one had ever ruined anything. Unless he was referring to me.

Laguna added some thinly sliced shallots to the sauce, turned it down, and refreshed our cups with both coffee and home brew. “You weren’t here during the Clive years. I think Kiros chipped a tooth grinding them together so hard because he was afraid of hurting your sister’s feelings.”

“Clive was an asshole.” I never met him, but he treated my adopted sister badly before dumping her and therefore was lucky to be alive. Reflecting on that I realized he was still alive _because_ I’d never met him.

Agreeing, Laguna hiked himself up to sit on the counter. I moved the pea pods just in time. “It was never proven but rumor has it someone visited Clive’s place just before his family arrived for Family Day the year he and Ellie broke up. This mystery person had about a gallon of Super Glue and put it to good use. Every door, cupboard, and drawer was glued closed, even the refrigerator. The table was beautifully set with fine china and silverware, all permanently attached to the table.”

I checked my cup, noting the proportions of liquor to house blend had been shifting steadily. “Did you tell her to get the toilet seats, too?”

“No, I did those.”

I texted Seifer the take-away ‘Sometimes it’s fun to be the vindictive ex’.

He responded, _‘Takes too long to bury the evidence.’_

Laguna warmed up our coffees. There wasn’t much of Thom’s brew left so he divided it equally between our cups. “When I was a kid, living with The Aunts, we considered it a banner year if we got to dessert without blood or tears. Typically the quibbling, back biting, snubbing and one-upping started while folk were still unpacking. There were two cousins or aunts - Maud and Blanche I think they were - who didn’t speak for 20 years. They’d sit near each other at the table and just radiate I’m-ignoring-you rays like a pair of pissed off house cats.”

He waved his cup around, fortunately not slopping hot coffee everywhere. “Like a lot of stuff laden with tradition, it’s better conceptually than in reality. But it’s human nature to keep trying. There were good times, too. Anyway, the worst years make the best stories.” 

I shared the good news about normalcy with Seifer while Laguna checked the stock pots where I was boiling the neck and other assorted inner portions of the turkey for gravy. They were both unimpressed.

A faint burning smell reminded Laguna and me about the tarts. We decided any overdone bits could be hidden with carefully placed dollops of whipped cream. Laguna set the cranberries to simmering. His recipe for cranberry sauce called for generous amounts of fine Galbadian whiskey and since we were out of Thom’s homebrew, Laguna poured some for us.

He threw back a shot, squared his shoulders, and got out the oysters. “I hate this part.”

I sighed. “Why do you make the casserole, then?” I took the fresh oysters away from Laguna. The idea of him handing a blade after the amount of liquor we’d consumed was frightening.

“I like the taste! I just don’t like killing them. Anyway, it’s Kiros’ favorite, he’ll whine if we don’t.”

“Seifer hates oysters,” I said idly, cutting the slimy thing loose from its mooring. I wasn’t a big fan myself but I liked the sauce my father created to go with them.

“I thought everyone who grew up by the seashore automatically waxed nostalgic over seafood in every variation.”

Shrugging, I said, “He claims he was forced to eat so much awful shellfish as a kid that he avoids it all now as a matter of principle.”

“Kind of how I feel about haiku.” Laguna started on the roux for the oyster casserole, sipping whiskey as he worked. I don’t understand how he makes a perfect sauce _every time_. Even when too drunk to be trusted with sharp objects.

Casually, he said, “You know you could invite Seifer and his girls up here. It’s not like we don’t have the food. Or the room.”

“Doesn’t get around the whole city limits thing.” I hesitated, but the liquor encouraged me to confess, “I haven’t told him about you. That you are the president, I mean.”

Laguna added an alarming amount of heavy cream to the roux. “Ashamed of your old dad?” He said it lightly but he sounded hurt.

“Just your profession, it’s embarrassing, politicians in the family.” Whimsy influenced by whiskey and Seifer caused me to add the lie, “I told him you were a sanitation worker.”

“I do deal with a lot of garbage.”

Why hadn’t I told Seifer? He was interested in me and my family, he asked questions that I sidestepped with the ease of long practice. He was smart enough not to push but I knew Seifer had a mental image that my father and I were barely making ends meet. Did he think I won the motorcycle in a raffle?

I washed the oysters and myself, thinking. “I’m not sure Seifer would approve of you.”

“Really.” Laguna drawled the word out dangerously. I poured us both fresh drinks to distract him.

“Not you in person, but the fact that you are rich and famous. He would consider it cheating.”

“Cheating. … Oh, like I used my massive influence to score you a cush job teaching elementary school in East Hyne’s End?”

“I like my job, I like the school district and the kids.”

Sitting on the counter, sipping his whiskey, Laguna said, “Then how is it cheating? If I did use my massive influence you wouldn’t be working four hours away and getting paid peanuts.”

“The money has nothing to do with it.” I don’t need money, SeeD paid extremely well and once I was no longer spending it on upgrades and potions the gil stacked up. “Wait, how is it I just happened to find a school district where the Sorceress’s Knight lived?”

“Kismet?”

I rolled my eyes. “You can’t tell me you didn’t know where Seifer Almasy was.”

“Is that the problem, you are worried he’ll think you were sent to spy on him?”

That thought had never consciously occurred to me but it was a valid concern. “Seifer would be pissed.”

“I thought that was situation normal.” Laguna leaned over and gave the sauce a whisk.

“Not so much lately.” I reflected on my relationship with Seifer. “Or ever. Most of the time, _I_ was pissed at _him_. He just laughed.” Smug bastard.

“Flirting.” Laguna nodded, agreeing with himself.

“What? No!” I pointed to Laguna with my tumbler. “He’s as straight as you are.”

“I’m sure.” I have no idea why my father was smiling at the sauce.

“He has two ex-wives. He has children. The man is not interested.” Depressing but obvious.

“And if he were interested?”

“That would be a different conversation.” I frowned at Laguna. “Are you match making? Stop it.”

“Just curious. I know you care about the guy, you like him.”

“No, not like that. I mean, yes, of course, but ...not like that.” I’d known Seifer my whole life, his kids were adorable, but that wasn’t the same thing as carrying a torch for him. Was it?

Irritated for no reason, I snapped, “You forgot the cranberries; they are boiling away.” I forgot them too but Laguna seemed to be moving around better than I was.

“Would you act on it? Would you make a play for him?” Laguna added whiskey and orange juice to the cranberries and refilled our tumblers.

“Bring the Sorceress’s Knight home to dinner? Kiros would have a stroke.”

“Kiros survived Clive. He’d like Seifer better because he could punch him and you wouldn’t cry.”

“No one hits Seifer but me,” I said firmly. I got up to help with the oyster casserole but Laguna handed me another drink so I sat back down. I watched him stir the cheese and spices into the bread crumb topping. I knew he was drinking as much as I was, if not more. Why were his hands still steady?

I decided Laguna wasn’t steady, I was simply too drunk to notice. Feeling better, I finished my drink. I thought I’d finished it already but maybe not. I noticed I was swinging my feet like a child and stopped.

“Seifer isn’t like anyone else.”

Laguna made an encouraging sound. He had his back to me; he was pouring the turkey stock through a strainer.

“He knows me so well. Even the bad stuff.”

“I thought he caused the bad stuff.”

“No, not all of it. But he was there. He was always there.”

Laguna made a sad noise. That could have been because the sieve slipped and several cups of stock went all over the counter, but I chose to believe it harked back to one of his big issues - that Laguna _wasn’t_ there when I was growing up.

I stretched out on my counter; it was surprisingly cool and comfortable. “I get that it bothers you but it never bothered me and I could never figure out why it did bother you.” I toyed with my tumbler. “Now I kind of do; I watch Seifer with his girls and… is it possible to love someone simply because you share genetic material?”

“Oh, Squall…”

“The answer is yes, right? That’s weird to me but I get it now.”

Softly, Laguna said, “I’m glad to hear it, Son.”

“I feel like I need Seifer, to explain stuff like that. Everything is clearer when he’s around. Life makes more sense.”

“Do you love him?”

“I don’t know.” I sat up. “I would kill and die for him.”

Laguna leaned back and put his elbows on the counter behind him. “Yeah, but would you sleep with him?”

“Only if he asked.”

 

 

After some internal debate, I opened my eyes. The early morning light was diffused by the cloud cover and the tinted windows in my palace suite. I watched a few raindrops slither down the glass. It was soothing.

I rolled over to check the chronometer. Mistake.

Logic and education warred with sensory input as to whether it was possible for a human head to explode from internal pressure alone. Humanish head; I recalled Seifer’s assertion that descendants of Hyne were not in fact purely human. That invalidated the data I had on the lack of historical precedent for messy death by hangover. I draped an arm over my eyes and groaned.

Laguna Loire, a man who claimed to love me for no other reason than he was my biological father, had gotten me drunk. Not just drunk, _stupid_ drunk. Stupid, _talking_ drunk.

Good thing I was no long with SeeD as apparently I could withstand torture but not half a bottle of home brew and a nosy relative.

I tried to blame Seifer, since it was his ex-wife’s antics and his attorney’s moonshine that started the evening, but in all fairness he’d warned me about both.

I put the pillow over my head and growled, although it came out more of a moan. What I really wanted was a quart of water and a few hours more sleep but already my mind was replaying the conversations from the night before. I had gradually learned Laguna was a good deal more intelligent than he pretended to be. There was no doubt that he found the same conclusion as I did: I was in - I had a crush. On Seifer Alamasy.

The question was, what to do about it? I could move away and never see Seifer or the girls again. That idea, or more likely my hangover, made me nauseated. Thinking it through as best I could with a pounding headache I decided to ignore the whole thing. If I acted like I didn’t know, then Seifer wouldn’t know, and there would be no awkward conversations.

I almost convinced myself of that, and the corollary lie that I could roll over and sleep the entire previous night away, when there was a knock at my door.

It was Family Day, there were hours of work left to get ready for the feast - the rolls had to be made, the fresh fruit cut, the turkey and ham roasted. I sighed.

There was a second knock, slightly louder.

I fought high level monsters while barely alive; I could answer the door battling a hangover. On the way, I tried to think of a better greeting than ‘You utter bastard’ for my father on Family Day. Wrenching the door open I discovered two things: one, I was in my underwear (my father must have undressed me and put me to bed, how humiliating) and two, it was not my father at the door.  
Fortunately for my tattered dignity it wasn’t my sister, either. Or worse, the press.

Ward grinned at me. He was holding a tray. Balancing it on one huge hand, he lifted the first cover to reveal a glass of chilled water, condensation sliding down the side. It was beautiful and I drank it in one gulp.

“You may have saved my life.”

He wiggled his eyebrows at me and lifted the second cover. Underneath was a cup of coffee and a small potion bottle. I took both.  
“This is why you are my favorite.”

Laughing soundlessly, Ward came in and set the tray on my desk. ‘We had a good time last night,’ he signed. ‘So did you and Laguna, it seems.’

I face palmed. “Security feed?” I had to peek through my fingers to read his response.

‘Laguna disabled the ones in the kitchen but the hallways got some good shots of the sliding contest.’ Socks and marble floors, Hyne.

Ward removed the last cover and handed me a bacon sandwich.

The potion was doing its job so I was able to make myself eat. “You didn’t have to cook breakfast.”

Ward shook his head. ‘Laguna,’ he signed. ‘He was up at 5, getting the bird in the oven.’

“He drank me under the table, how does he do it?”

‘Years of practice.’ Ward thought a moment and then added, ‘and cast iron liver.’

 

Laguna had let me sleep in; I was embarrassingly late when I arrived in the kitchen. He already had the meat in ovens and the bread rising. Kiros, a notoriously bad cook, was reduced to helping by plunking cookware into a dishwasher. Sis was sitting at a small table, in theory peeling oranges but in fact hunkering over a cup of coffee.

Nice to see I wasn’t the only one hungover.

“Eat the sandwich, you’ll feel better.”

“Laga, I’ll puke.”

Kiros sighed. “At least drink the potion.”

Ellone shook her head. “I’ll puke.” She moaned and grabbed her head. “I’m going to puke.” She put her head down on the table. “Never let me drink champagne and cognac and peach brandy at the same time ever again.”

Ward smacked me on the back of the head as a reminder. “I have Esuna, Sis.”

She straightened up and threw her arms wide with a ‘come at me’ gesture. I threw the spell and there sighs of relief all around.

“Why don’t you stock those?” Laguna asked her.

“I do history, not healing.”

“How many more of those do you have?” Kiros asked me. “Because that could change the after dessert menu.”

Laguna vetoed that, claiming it hurt his feelings when we resorted to magic to survive his cooking.

We settled into the chores Laguna assigned - readying the fruit for the salad, chilling the olives, setting the butter out to soften, filling serving dishes with pickles and nuts and other odds and ends no one ever ate but the formal dinner required. Since I was late and guilt ridden, I volunteered to assist Kiros in clean up.

It was peaceful until Ward noticed that Elle’s shirt had a moogle theme like Laguna’s hat. ‘I thought the theme this year was pajamas?’

“You can’t change it last minute, Laguna. Ward and I don’t have anything with moogles on it!”

‘Thank Hyne’

“What? No, it’s pj’s, I just like the hat.”

“I’m not changing clothes.” Ellone was wearing a short pleated tartan skirt and bunny slippers with the tee shirt I’d bought her. “This is the most comfortable thing I own, these are my pajamas now.”

Kiros put his hands on his hips. “The point of having a theme is all of us being together in the fashion.”

“Sleep clothes and moogles aren’t mutually exclusive,” Laguna said.

“But the hat.”

“I like my hat.”

“No one sleeps in a ball cap with a, a deely bobber hanging off it.” Kiros turned to me. “Tell him.”

Having neither pajamas nor moogle themed clothing, I was relieved to get out of the conversation when Seifer texted me. I could tell he was feeling low, so I obediently played straight man for him. Then I spent several minutes suppressing puns and other inappropriate responses. I rejoined the conversation in time for Ward to remind everyone that casual was casual but no gentleman wore a ball cap at the dinner table. Laguna sulked a little but agreed.

‘Next year we’ll do sports,’ Ward signed soothingly. ‘Then Squall can finally wear his rugby kit to dinner.’

I did the fist pump because everyone expected it.

 

I was a little distracted, worried about Seifer, and I decided to call instead of text before we gathered at the table. Fuujin’s voice was so unexpected I couldn’t even place her at first. It was good to talk to them; Fu and Rai had always treated me like a member of the group even back when I didn’t want to be. Seifer was clearly elated and I was happy for him that he got a proper Family Day after all. It was surprisingly flattering to be asked to attend next year’s feast at Turtle Bay.

We ate in the small breakfast parlor, because it was closer and more comfortable, but the table was still set with pressed linens, sparkling crystal, delicate china and of course, a centerpiece of late blooming lilies. There was enough food to run Garden for a week; every available space was filled with serving dishes or utensils. Laguna carved the turkey and Ward filled our goblets with crisp pale golden wine he’d discovered.

In the spirit of the theme, Sis did change her outfit slightly - she kept the MacMoogle’s tee but traded the skirt for sweat pants. Laguna wore pink flannel pajamas with little birds on them. Ward had on a red and white striped night shirt and matching cap; Kiros wore an elegantly embroidered silk dressing gown. I discovered gym shorts, a tank top, and a standard hotel style terry cloth robe in my wardrobe; I suspected Sis. We all wore bunny slippers, gifts from Laguna for the occasion.

Kiros picked the dinner music: soft rock and roll ballads. It was far different from the usual dinners at the Palace, which was the point. Far different from the meal I imagined Seifer was having, with everyone no doubt crowded around the coffee table by the fire. Which reminded me:

“Seifer and his friends have invited all of us to Turtle Bay for Family Day next year.”

Several forks stopped mid-air as people blinked at me.

“All of us?” Laguna asked, looking pleased. “Beach theme!”

I nodded.

Kiros and Ward immediately started a discussion over the logistics, security, and press of attending. Sis, more direct, asked, “Why would they invite us? Are you and Seifer a thing finally?”

“What? No!”

She and Laguna exchanged looks and I became very interested in the oysters.

The sauce was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if anyone else writes first person this way, but when I do it, the person talking is telling me (me being me or some other character) the story. And Squall just won't talk about some things. I tried doing the chapter from Laguna's pov, but he wouldn't rat out his son, either. 
> 
> So my chapter of getting Squall drunk enough to confess his love was more getting Squall comfortable enough to consider the possibility that he maybe could be in love. It took nearly a year to get him there and I'm sorry, that's all I could do. 
> 
> Stubborn little bastard.
> 
> Thanks for staying with me. Next chapter "What Morgan Did"


	16. What Morgan Did

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah,” Seifer said, setting down his coffee mug. “What did happen over there?”

I left early Sunday morning to avoid the traffic and made good time, much to the relief of my cat. He had run out of bathroom tissue and other paper products to shred and had been forced to start on my couch. I tried to feed him but he was more interested in getting outside; perhaps several days of incarceration had damaged his street cred. I cracked the window since the rain had stopped so he could come and go at his leisure. I left an offering in the usual place before heading to Seifer’s. 

Logically the Almasy family no longer needed my help to have a decent Family Day feast, but a promise is a promise. Also, if things were going to be awkward between Seifer and me, I needed to know before the second semester so I could relocate. 

Seifer opened the door, calling over his shoulder, “If this is a gypsy you monsters better pray he doesn’t have chickens to trade.” 

I held up a box of tarts. “No chicken.”

“No gunblade, either, so I guess it’s safe to let you in.” Seifer held the door, whispering, “Tell me it’s unethical to cast _Sleep_ to get a couple moments peace.” 

“They’ll just be up later tonight.”

“I meant on me.”

The girls recognized my voice and mobbed me with hugs. “Come in, you missed Aunt Fuu.” Morgan made that sound like it was deliberate and unacceptable.

“Hello, Uncle Mr Leon,” Samantha chimed in. “What’s in the box?”

Before I could answer, Morgan said, “I hope it’s something to eat.”

“Hyne on the half shell, Squall does not exist solely to feed you monsters.”

“I heard you had a very nice Family Day and I’m sure you have leftovers.”

Samantha nodded, leading the way to the kitchen. “Yes, but you know, leftovers are left over for a reason.”

“And the reason is, everyone is sick of them.” Morgan sighed. “I’m glad you came because everyone left yesterday and it only just now stopped raining and it’s been boring as hell.” 

“Hell is not a word we say around teachers. And Squall does not exist solely to entertain you, either.” Seifer herded us along. Once safe in the kitchen we traded a cup of coffee for the box. “Be careful with that, I accidentally made it strong enough to stun a buffalo.”

I took a cautious sip. Given Seifer’s usual nuclear reactive coffee, anything he considered too strong was likely unfit for human consumption. I shrugged. Coffee was coffee and as Seifer was fond of pointing out, no one ever accused us of being fully human.

“Just like Garden used to make.”

He smirked before opening the box so Samantha could peek inside. “Oh, nice. Pies for lunch!”

“Pies for dessert,” I corrected. 

“What kind of pie?” Morgan asked suspiciously. “Jamie tried to feed us mint meat.”

“It was probably mincemeat, Boss. That’s kind of traditional.”

“I dunno. There were raisins in it. The green ones that look like boogers.” Morgan threw up her hands in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture. “Most of her food is weird.”

Loyally, Samantha said, “But good.”

“Um, no. Weird is not good. Good weird is different. Different is ok. Weird is not ok.”

Before they could start quibbling in earnest I said, “Those are the ginger pumpkin tarts my dad and I made. We made too many.” We actually made extra last night for the Almasys so they’d be fresh.

“Let me finish getting the laundry on and we’ll figure out some real food for lunch, then.” 

“I’ll do that, the girls can help.” They both cheered, but it wasn’t clear whether it was over being allowed to help or not eating their father’s cooking. I found some not too badly dried out goose and turkey meat, some creamed vegetables, and other odds and ends. “We’ll make tetrazzini.”

Neither child had ever heard of the dish, but Samantha loved the word and Morgan was willing to trust me. I set the elder to work grating cheese while Samantha helped me wash the fresh mushrooms by carefully patting each one dry with a paper towel. 

Seifer went back to doing laundry but returned with a crumpled paper in his hand. “What’s this, Boss?” Reading aloud, he said, “Pig, wig, dig...oxygen?”

“Spelling words. I need to know those by Monday.”

“It’s Sunday afternoon, Boss.”

“Plenty of time,” she said cheerfully. At her father’s look, Morgan added, “Well, only mean old Mrs Nest gives homework over Family Day, Daddy.”

I wasn’t surprised; I had substituted for Devora Nest before and she had a spelling test every Monday at 10. Rumor had it she was so rigid about her schedule she’d actually held one in the parking lot during a fire drill. What did surprise me was, “Oxygen? That’s a very advanced word for first grade.”

“Mrs Nest has this new thing where everyone who gets a 100 on the last test gets their initial in a word on the next test. Xinia threw her off and then she had to use Y for Young because she just couldn’t get Q for Quade in there.”

“There is no M for Morgan in oxygen,” Seifer pointed out. “Nor A for Almasy. Not even B for Boss.”

“Spelling is boring.”

“No, things are boring when they are too easy and if spelling were easy, there would be a word with M in it.”

“Too boring to even think about,” Morgan clarified. 

“That’s loser talk, Boss. Trying and failing is sad but not trying at all is just being a loser.”

Morgan sighed dramatically. “Ok, Daddy, sheesh. Next time there will be M or maybe A.”

Seifer took the grater and cheese and provided Morgan with her spelling list and some school supplies. She sulked over it until I suggested teaching Samantha while she worked. 

Samantha was willing; she’d worked up to making little beds out of damp paper towels for each mushroom. Soon Morgan was showing her little sister how not to get the p in pig confused with the b in big or the d in dig.

I worked on the casserole while Seifer puttered around, restoring a house that had held 4 unexpected guests for two days. He put on the music he liked; some sort of sultry jazz you could hum along with or talk over with equal ease. Seifer poured the girls cups of sparkling apple juice as a reward for working diligently. 

He paused to watch me fold the mushrooms into the sauce, leaning over my shoulder and well into my personal space. I resisted the urge to thwak him on the head with the wooden spoon. 

“Keep them big enough for me to pick out.”

“Someday Samantha and I will show you and Morgan the joys uninhibited eating.”

“Yeah, you keep thinking that, Gourmet Boy.” Seifer bumped my shoulder. I had deliberately forgotten or refused to notice how tactile he was. “Hey, how was your feast? You get the hat and jammies thing worked out?”

Morgan glanced up. “Jammies?”

“Squall and his dad ate their feast in their pj’s.”

Samantha looked scandalized but Morgan merely wrinkled her nose. “Jamie made _us_ wear dresses.”

“Squall and his dad probably didn’t have any dresses.”

I flashed Seifer one of my patented looks.

They never work on him. He grinned at me. 

Left scrabbling for something to say, I changed the subject slightly. “But other than that, it was a good Family Day, wasn’t it? You had two feasts, one with Jamie and one here.” 

“No, we didn’t eat there.” Samantha said, looking guilty. 

“Not even the nasty old mint meat pie,” Morgan agreed.

“What happened?”

“Yeah,” Seifer said, setting down his coffee mug. “What did happen over there?” 

The girls exchanged glances; Seifer shifted and sent me a wry look of his own. 

“Boss…”

Encouraged by the use of her nickname, Morgan smiled brightly. “Well, I didn’t want to go and I had to wear a dress, so I was kinda mad.”

“Understatement of the year,” Seifer murmured. 

“I figured we’d go in, be total brats, maybe throw a fit or break something, get sent home -”

“Morgan…”

“- but Sami wouldn’t.” Morgan made it sound like a betrayal.

“Mommy doesn’t get mad at _you_.”

“Sure she does,” Morgan said cheerfully. The difference being, Morgan didn’t care. She got the ability to enjoy making people angry from her father. “So then, ok, Daddy said we had to teach Jamie how to family right. So I told Sami she had to be super nice to her mom.”

“Like I’m not always nice to Mommy!”

“Give her lots of hugs, talk to her a lot.”

“Like I wouldn’t want to do that!”

“Stick close by her, hold her hand…”

Sadly, Samantha said, “Mommy didn’t like that. She told me not to get underfoot while she was cooking.” Her lip trembled.

“Lady Bug, you know you can’t bother the cook. A kitchen is a dangerous place; there are sharp things and hot things and you could get hurt.”

“I know. Mommy burned herself, it was my fault.” Samantha’s eyes filled. 

“She said ‘son of a bitch’, too.” Morgan grinned. “She tried to change it to ‘beachball’ but I heard it all the way in the front room.”

“Another word to avoid, Boss, sheesh.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Samantha,” I said. “And minor burns happen all the time when you are cooking. If she didn’t have to stop and get first aid, it wasn’t more than a momentary ouch.”

Seifer rubbed his face. “Ok, so Sami was showing her mom Family Day is about love, what were you doing other than improving your cussing vocabulary?”

“I was being nice to Professor Pete.” Morgan also inherited her father’s smirk. I was briefly sorry for Samantha’s step father. “He doesn’t like me.”

Stung, Seifer said, “What makes you say that?” I’ve noticed parents are instantly defensive if someone doesn’t like their children. 

Samantha piped up. “You can just _tell_ , Daddy.”

He grumbled and then said, “What did you do, Boss?”

Morgan got up and came over to me. She got very close, almost but not quite touching, looked up into my eyes and said, “Hi.”

“Hello,” I said. 

“No, move away like I have cooties.”

Obediently, I moved away and Morgan slowly chased me, always getting close and smirking and saying inane things like “Whatcha doin?” A memory surfaced of Seifer doing that to me back at Garden. I recalled it ended badly. 

Seifer muttered, “Did she get that from me?”

“Oh yes. Hyne yes. So much yes.”

“Professor Pete took the glass bottle from the sideboard and locked himself in the study.” Samantha reported. “When Mommy found out, they had a fight.”

Morgan smiled.

“Ok, so you were being a pill but I don’t get why he didn’t just tell you to go play and let him watch the game.” 

“He’s ascared of me.”

“Why would a grown man be afraid of a little girl?”

Reasons came to mind, and I wasn’t liking them.

Morgan pretended to think. “I might have told him I could do magic.”

“Professor Pete is ascared of magic.”

“Oh, no.” Seifer said. “Boss, no.” He pointed at her. “That is such a bad idea. No. Do _not_ go around -” 

He was interrupted by his phone playing ‘Old MacDonald’. “Dammit, what is she, psychic?” 

Seifer must have decided the best defense was a good offense because he headed into the living room, saying into the phone, “Pete has got to lay off the sauce around the girls.”

They looked anxiously after him. “She’s going to tell on us,” Samantha fretted. 

“It was worth it.”

“Maybe you should tell me what happened and I can make sure your father hears both sides of the story.”

“Hyne, don’t cry.” Seifer said in the other room. “Deep breaths. Just tell me. Where the hell is Pete? Pregnancy hysterics are his problem now.”

“There’s nothing to play with over there,” Morgan said quickly. “It’s so boring.”

“We looked in the nursery, but Mommy said that stuff was only for the new baby.” Samantha sighed. “He’s going to be a boy. His name is going to be Peter.”

“We had to fake it. We were in stupid dresses and Professor Pete was locked in one room ignoring us and Jamie was in the kitchen doing her thing and so. I found the coolest thing.”

“It’s a feather duster, with fluttery hairy feathers. Mommy uses it on the breakables.”

Seifer seemed trying to break into a flood of words. “Jamie. _Jamie_. For the love of Hyne, Jamie.”

Morgan glanced to where her father was and lowered her voice. “So we were playing with it, tickle chases and stuff. Then I was the Grand Queen and Sami was the lowly drudge-”

“Who was actually a princess,” Samantha reminded her sister.

“And I gave her the magic feather duster and told her she had to clean the entire castle by sundown or I’d feed her to the shrimp.” 

“A terrible way to go.”

I nodded.

“Hyne on the halfshell. That isn’t even physically possible,” Seifer said into the phone. “It was just a bad dream, Hyne, Jamie. Of course the baby will be fine, why wouldn’t it be?”

“So Lady Bug was a _short_ princess drudge and she climbed up on the back of the chair to reach the shelf but it was a recliner and it reclined and the whole shelf sort of came down.”

Samantha’s eyes filled. “Stuff broke. Mommy was so _mad_.”

Crisply, in the old Garden command tone, Seifer said, “First, Morgan does not have the Gift of Hyne and cannot do magic, unlike some other child we could discuss.”

“Jamie was so mad,” Morgan confirmed, “she grabbed up Sami and was going to hit her.” She mimed a blow that was not a spanking.

“I didn’t mean to!” Samantha started crying.

I abandoned the casserole and sat down at the table, pulling Sami into my lap. To Morgan, I said, “What did you do? Did she spank you, too?’

Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t hit me and she sure as _hell_ doesn’t hit my sister.”

“Second,” Seifer continued, “Even if she had the Gift she can’t cast without a GF.”

Samantha wiped her eyes on the heels of her hands and sniffed. “Boss saved me.”

I gave Samantha my handkerchief and nodded encouragingly to Morgan. 

“I grabbed up the feather thinger and made like it was a magic wand and I told Jamie that she was such a mean old snake her baby was going to be a snake, too.”

“Thirdly, if Morgan somehow got a GF no one knows about, that GF would still have to be able to _Curse_. There is only one GF I ever heard of who can cast _Curse_ , and that’s Shiva. I know where she is and who she’s with and trust me, there is no thing, no way, no _one_ that will ever get him to part with her for any reason.”

The Guardian in question suggested she might be willing to moonlight for a good cause, but I saw no reason to let anyone in on that little secret. 

Feeling like I should have Seifer’s back on this one, I tried, “It’s not nice to threaten babies.”

“I know but I was so mad. And Jamie was _super_ mad. She yelled at Sami and said mean stuff and I got really mad and I told her she was cursed and the baby was going to be a _bunch_ of snakes, all wiggly but feathery like the thing and it would have only a baby head but it would be an _ugly_ baby head and every time it wiggled its feathers she’d feel it all tickly inside and know it was Ugly Feather Snake Baby.” 

“Finally,” Seifer said, still matter of fact, “ _If_ Morgan could do magic and _if_ she had a GF and _if_ it could cast _Curse_ , _Curse_ isn’t what you think. It just messes with your ability to hit and ups the other guy’s ability to hit you. And it wears off in like 24 hours or less. So even if she could _Curse_ you, as long as you weren’t planning to go best two out of three with the pizza boy, you wouldn’t even notice you were _Cursed_.” 

“Then Jamie screamed and made Professor Pete take us home right then.”

“ _Right_ then,” Samantha said. “I had to put my shoes on in the car.”

At a loss, I said, “Morgan…”

“It was worth it. Jamie thought she could wreck Family Day, _ha_. I showed _her_.”

Dreamily, Samantha said, “She saved me from a spanking with a magic feather duster. I have the best sister in the world.” Morgan gave her a fond shoulder bump.

More gently, Seifer said, “You know I will, Jamie. I owe you that much. But you won’t need any magic, you’ll be fine, the baby is fine, it will be okay. Call up the asshole who got you into this situation and tell him you need a shitton of pistachio gelato tout suite. What, no pistachio this time? Pancakes? Tell him Pancake Barn does carry out.” Seifer hung up, took a deep breath, and roared, “ _Morgan Gabriella Almasy!_ ”

 

 

It was inevitable. One betrayal led to another and suddenly there was a mob on the lawn, ugly and angry, looking for someone to blame. It happened so quickly - pounding on the door, breaking glass, flames leaping. Fed on hate and fear, the fire grew and spread and reached out to take more.

No lion roared to the rescue this time, just the cold comfort of Shiva. She was trying to tell me something even as the heat drove her back. The ice shielding she left me evaporated, steaming away as I fought my way past walls of red and orange flames. The carpet melted under my feet, the wall paper bubbled and burned. I could hear children screaming.

Choking on smoke, I called his name.

I woke up, startled by the change in reality. This is my bed, I thought. That is my cat, those are my glasses. Seifer’s records are still sealed, he and his family are safe.

It was just a dream.

I knew I was getting too involved with Seifer and his daughters. 

The cat helped a little by stomping across my stomach. He was definitely putting on weight. I rubbed behind his ears and almost convinced myself I could go back to sleep when I remembered Seifer saying, in his lazy drawl, “You and I know Time Kompression never ends.”

I grabbed for the phone.

He answered the way everyone does in the middle of the night, “Ngm?”

“Seifer?” I couldn’t seem to force my voice above a whisper. Why was I calling? It was insane. “Do… do you have fire insurance?”

“Skwll?” Seifer clearly required more coffee to manage vowels and other indicators of complex thought. 

Feeling like an idiot, I said, “Sorry to bother you,” and hung up.

I fell back against on the pillows and debated hiding under them when the phone burbled Seifer’s ring tone. I forced myself to answer. “I’m sorry, ok? I’ll talk to you later.”

Sounding much more alert, Seifer informed me, “Not only do I have fire insurance and alarms and all that, my GF is kind of a fire orientated dude and therefore I am slightly immune to the effects.”

“Thought he did _Light_.”

“ _Light_ , _Holy_ , _Fire_ , it’s all in the family. You’ve been peeking, what did I tell you about that?”

Too humiliated to keep the conversation going, I was silent. That never deterred Seifer.

“Nightmare?” 

Sheepishly, I said, “Yeah.”

“The fun kind where giant mounds of trash become sentient and start schlepping around town demanding everyone remodel so the dumpsters are handicap accessible?”

“Not the fun kind,” I whispered. Then, stronger from the sheer nonsense of his conversation, “What? ...your subconscious frightens me.”

“Me, too. So was it the kind where you aren’t sure if you are still dreaming or not and thus aren’t sure if horrible things really happened?”

“Or will happen. Time compression never ends, right?”

“Ah,” he said, figuring it out at last. “Yeah, but remember, time is only a location. You may never go there. You may never have been there. For every bad thing, a good thing also happened someplace. The trick is to stay with the good things.”

“How do you do that?”

“You gotta make your own good times, Squall. And then you share them.”

“I feel like I’m five years old again,” I said ruefully.

“Naw, you’d have your damn cold feet on me if you were.” He huffed a laugh. “But we can pretend. Let’s see, first we fight over who gets which side of the bed, then the pillow and then there’s the old ‘grab the blanket and be a mummy’ game...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tempted as I was to make the whole thing a noodle incident, I always had in my head the picture of Morgan defending her little sister with an ostrich plume feather duster. I just didn't plan on actually putting the scene in the fic. But ask and ye shall receive!
> 
> That's my excuse for why the chapter is so short and I'm sticking to it. 
> 
> Tetrazzini is my mother's method of choice for using up Thanksgiving leftovers. Basically you take all the left over turkey, any veggies in a cream sauce, add more white sauce (made with wine or broth or milk, spiced as you like it - paprika and garlic are popular) as needed, add mushrooms if my dad is eating it, stir in grated Parmesan or Swiss cheese, and pour the gloop over cooked spaghetti noodles. Sprinkle top with more cheese (cheddar is preferred) and bake until bubbly. It sucks up the sauce as it cooks so if you like sauce, add lots.


	17. Chapter 17 Only 34 Shopping Days Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although the official start of winter came later, with Yule, the day after Family Day was the start of The Season. The Season of driving parents to drink.

Although the official start of winter came later, with Yule, the day after Family Day was the start of The Season. The Season of driving parents to drink.

First, the weather generally turned cold and damp, but for some reason that year we went overboard. I kept an eye on levees I didn’t trust while the town and surrounding landscape mushed into a soggy mess. With the damp weather came the Seasonal Snots, helped by new and exotic germs folk shared during Family Day trips. Squall was working full time, filling in for various sick teachers, and he told me every day he was sending kids home for being sick, contagious, and just too full of mucus to learn. Samantha spent the better part of a week bouncing around my office, stealing highlighters and charming the crew, because her preschool closed due to the alarming amount of sick kids. It reopened a few days later, much to Lani and my relief, presumably after the administration had boiled everything. Even City Hall was a ghost town, but that could have just been governmental between holiday slacking.

For the real reason of The Season was Yule in all its tacky, expensive glory.

Family day _was_ a big deal in Esthar, but even the most diehard sentimentalist was forced to admit that not everyone had both family and feast and therefore some folk did not celebrate in the approved fashion. Yule was a different bowl of wax fruit entirely. Estharians correctly agreed that the winter solstice and accompanying new year happened to everyone whether they wanted it or not. Since we’re all in this together, they decided, why not completely lose our goddamn minds?

And so the Yule Onslaught began. The air was full of the scents of foods cooked only once a year, songs played only one time of year, and the pleadings of kids who promised to be good for at least the rest of the year.

A man couldn’t buy a cup of coffee without the barista trying to sneak in pumpkin, cinnamon, peppermint or eggnog flavoring. Stores ran special sales with Official Shopping Days Left, in case anyone didn’t have a calendar. There were secrets and presents and parties and special pageants at the schools. There were a shit ton decorations to be hauled down from the attic and out of the rafters in the garage and set up for a few weeks and then packed up and put away again. The media stepped up with at least one soppy feel good story per day, usually involving a kitten or little old lady. Sometimes they switched it up with a puppy or a kid with a depressing disease. I skipped those, they gave me nightmares.

Part of what was so funny to me is that while everyone could recognize Yule decorations and no one would think to put them up in midsummer, there was no standardization whatsoever. Because everyone was having Yule, everyone had his own way to celebrate, and everything was embraced, borrowed, and modified to suit. Each family had their own way of doing things, but every time a couple got together to form a new family, the traditions were modified. That’s what I liked about the holiday, it was so ancient and yet constantly changing. Official Yule colors were white and gold and red and maybe green, but you could also use blue and silver or purple. But probably not orange. Symbols included lamps, candles, trees, old men with beards, tonberries, chicabos, bells, bows, boughs, berries, stars, moons, suns, toys, candy, and basically anything that was white, gold, red, green, blue, silver, or purple. But probably not orange. Except for real oranges, often studded with cloves and tied up with ribbon. Jamie made a lot of those.

Trabian tradition was to go out and hang offerings in a tree - food for starving wild life originally. Centrans hid small toys for the kids to find, telling them they were left by the Yule King. They depicted him as a big guy with a snowy beard instead of what I suspected he really was, the Tonberry King doing his _Junk_ attack. Some Estharians used to compromise by hiding toys in the trees on their property. Now they bought fake trees, some pre-toyed, and displayed them in the living room.

Whether you were setting fake candles on a toy laden tree in your parlor or building a bonfire in your backyard, knitting ugly sweaters for the dog or spreading special festive blankets over the couch, giving out food to the needy or making those cookies you only bake once a year, Yuletide was really saying “Here is the shortest day of the year, it’s colder than a bitch and we only have so much food to last until spring. Fuck it, let’s party.” It’s about not giving into fear - the fear of starvation, of loss, of dying. And the oldest fear of all, fear of the Dark.

Had to admire that.

Had to do my part.

Which explains why on the one dry Saturday, I was out in the freezing ass cold, precariously perched on a ladder stringing colored lights around the eaves of my house.

The things you do for your kids. _I_ wasn’t afraid of the dark. Among other things, I had the god of light, Helios, timesharing space in my head. Who you’d think would do a guy a solid and put up a few lights on his own. I was quickly informed he would, if whole neighborhood didn’t mind buying blackout curtains. Another great plan shot to shit.

There were a set amount of little hooks I could reach without having to move the ladder, but the next scheduled move had a large bushy bastard in the way. Jamie had assured me it was bee friendly and good for the environment but all I knew for sure was that it had damn sharp pointy leaves. Moving the ladder would require some up close and personal time with stabbity bush whereas leaning waaaaay over to get a few extra hooks would only be a problem if I actually fell off the ladder into the damn thing.

I got hooks one and two and a “Daddy!” from below. My eldest was standing in the middle of the yard doing what she did best, which was supervising, complete with hard hat and clipboard. Samantha at least was contentedly sitting on the porch step sorting the lights to make sure there were no two exactly alike next to each other. That was an important job because if the lights were out of order your ass fell off or something. There was no solution but poor old Daddy getting the goddamn ladder out and fixing it.

Daddy wasn’t planning on doing that again this year.

“Daddy!” I never should have let Morgan watch the safety videos with the crew. Since I outranked her, I ignored Morgan and stretched a bit further, willing my fingers to grow and maybe tilting the ladder just a little to the side. “Dad-dy!” That had a definite tone of warning and by the way the ladder rocked back into place, the kid might have had a point. I over-corrected and had one of those faster than possible moments to calculate the weight load of the rain gutter before the ladder shuddered to a secure stop.

“Seifer,” Squall said, all brotherly concern. “I’m not picking your broken body out of that sticker bush.”

I grinned down at him. “I have _Float_.” Too bad I’d forgotten that until just that second. I clambered down the ladder while Squall held it steady.

“That won’t be all over the media, ‘flying man hangs decorations’.”

I jumped down the last few rungs and spread my arms. “Another Yuletide Miracle!”

“Like how you survived all these years without my help?” Squall took my friendly punch to the upper arm in the spirit it was meant. He was limited in his reactions because Samantha had abandoned her job of inspecting the lights to cling to his leg.

“Are you going to help decorate, Uncle Mr Leon?”

“It looks like your father could use a hand.”

“Daddy,” Morgan interrupted, handing me a woolen muffler. “Put this on.”

“Thanks, Sweetie, I was getting cold.” I started to fling the scarf around my neck but Morgan stopped me.

“Not there. Around your hips. Everyone can see your butt crack when you stretch.” Come to think on it, the trampstamp area of my backside was chillier than normal. Must have been the combination of the old sweatshirt that shrank a bit and the old slacks that sagged.

I rubbed some warmth back into the offending area. “No one cares about my butt.”

“Untrue,” Squall said. When I shot him a look, he nodded to across the street. The old ladies, caught standing in their front window with binoculars, waved.

“So embarrassing,” Morgan muttered.

“That’s why Aunt Lani bought the extra-long work shirts for the crew,” Sami piped up. “She said she saw enough of them as it was.”

As we moved the ladder, Squall commented to me, “I notice much of your life is catering to the ladies in it.”

“If you add in Mother Nature you can say they control every aspect.” This time I steadied the ladder as Squall leaned over the other way to get the last of the dreaded bush hooks done.

“Speaking of, the levees?”

“Should be ok unless you live down on Riverbend.”

“I _do_ live on Riverbend.”

“Sucks to be you, then,” I said cheerfully.

 

 

Jamie left an amazing amount of decorations which I’d never bothered with. I tried to get her to take them but she said Prof Prick had no storage room. I suspected he was too high pinky to appreciate the country craft aspect of the existing stuff. Jamie was probably even now creating a whole new attic full of more sophisticated, educationally themed ornaments. Good, let _him_ eat take out for a week because the entire kitchen was taken over for the dipping of more than likely poisonous leaves into highly toxic metallic paints.

I had cheap labor and the girls were old enough to want to decorate so what the hell. After we checked the lights and retreated inside to thaw over coffee and cocoa, I said, “You game for helping me get the rest out of the attic?”

Squall glanced around at the boxes I’d already brought in from the garage. “There’s _more_?”

“Jamie’s motto was ‘let no surface go undecorated’. I’m not quite that nuts, but there might be some stuff the girls will like.” I led the way to the hallway.

“Are you going up into the attic?” Morgan asked. When I nodded, she shooed Sami back to the living room with “Watch out for the steps!” She tried to keep Squall back, too.

“I need him!”

“Watch for the steps, Daddy.”

Seriously, who knew safety videos stayed with a kid so? I rolled my eyes, checked the location of the girls, and pulled the cord hanging from the ceiling. Some people have those cheap assed aluminum ladder things but we had proper stairs, complete with handrail, that slid noiselessly down. There were bolts that locked the handrail rigid but I rarely bothered with them, since I was typically carrying boxes and not using the rail anyway. Squall nodded, impressed, and followed me up.

I flicked on the lights and frowned. I hadn’t been up there in a long time and it showed. There were no mouse turds, thank Hyne, but it was dusty and the windows needed washing. “The cobwebs are here just for the ambiance.” We stepped off onto the hardwood floor. I’d planned on using the attic as a study, so the girls didn’t have to share a room, but had never gotten around to finishing it. I did get as far as flooring and a safety rail around the stairwell so we didn’t have to worry about falling through the hole while moving boxes.

Squall glanced around. “You have an amazing amount of crap.”

We did, and most of it we didn’t need, like Samantha’s crib and highchair. Not like there would be more babies in the house. I thought about offering them to Jamie. Let her snobbery and disdain of second hand things war with Pete’s cheapness. “A lot of this has great sentimental value.”

“There are six brown paper shopping bags full of old magazines.” He checked one. “Not even ‘Weapons Monthly’; they are ‘Kitchen and Garden Ideas’. Jamie?”

“Hey now, maybe I really wanted to redo the kitchen in marigolds.” Hell yes, Jamie. More stuff to haul to the recyc.

“Do you even know what a marigold is?”

“It’s a yellow-orangey flower some people claim is edible. Sami said it tasted like a ladybug had peed on it.” I poked around looking for boxes marked ‘Yule decorations’.

“Daddy?” Morgan called. “Can we come up?”

“No, Boss, it’s too dusty for little lungs. But you could go grab the blue tarps from the garage and spread them out in the living room so we can set the boxes down on them.”

“Ok!” She ran off to be replaced by my youngest.

“Daddy, can I turn the Yule lights on?”

“No one will be able to see them with the sun shining, Lady Bug.”

“Can I do it anyway?”

Squall fielded that one. “Help Morgan spread out the tarps, Samantha. We will be down soon and you can help unpack the boxes.”

“Ok!” Samantha must have been sitting on the bottom steps and when she jumped up to run off and find her sister, she jolted the counterweight just enough. The stairs rose, folding neatly, and closed us in the attic.

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“Oops. I should have thrown the bolt to lock them down. It’s a ‘one tug’ system, doesn't take a lot of strength to pull it down or push it back up. It’s all in the pulleys and levers.”

“But you can open it from up here.”

I grinned at him. “I don’t know, I never tried.” I lugged a box over to where the collapsed stair was and peered at the mechanisms. “Looks like it has a safety thing to keep it from opening up suddenly and dropping you in the hallway.”

“Does it have a safety ‘thing’ so we can open it up and _descend_ to the hallway?”

I handed Squall the box and peered some more. “Doesn’t look like it.”

He glanced around. “We won’t fit out the window.”

“Hang on, hang on, I’ll think of something.” Who designed stairs that only went one way, sheesh.

“Daddy?” a muffled voice called from below. She added anxiously, “Where are you?”

“Still in the attic, Boss,” I hollered back. “We had a problem with the steps.”

“How are you going to fix them? Your tools are down here.”

“That’s part of the problem.” Squall nodded in agreement.

“ ...are you _stuck_ up there?”

“Of course not.” Squall arched an eyebrow at the blatant lie and I hissed, “They can smell fear.” He nodded, he knew that.

“Do you want me to get you out? I can drag a chair over from the dining room.” It was an option, but I could see Morgan falling off the chair and breaking her other arm. Or getting the stairs in the head.

“We are going to be busy, moving a lot of boxes. Can I trust you girls not to do anything dangerous?”

“ _I_ passed the safety test.”

“I know you did and I’m proud of you but -”

“Boss!” Samantha called. The acoustics were excellent up in the attic, all things considered. “Look, it’s slippery, you can slide on it!”

“Oooh, I want to!”

I stared at Squall, lost, while the girls giggled below.

“The tarps, they are in socks.” He sat down on a crate of baby clothes. “She will remember us eventually.”

I ran a few mental scenarios through my parental panic meter. The girls couldn’t get up enough speed to seriously hurt themselves, like by going through a window. Worst case they’d break a few decorations which would merely mean less to pack away later. And at least I knew where they were. I relaxed.

“Yeah, when they get hungry. Are you sure you can’t fit through that window?” He was pretty slim, after all.

“If I had Lionheart,” Squall said glacially, “I could fit _you_ through the window.”

“But would I be in the mood after to come back and save your sorry ass?” I flopped down on my stomach, the better to poke at the stair mechanism.

“I have my phone. We could call for help.”

“Lani? She’d make us wait until after Bridge Club.” I fished a leatherman tool out of my pocket. “If we get desperate, we could try Doc Rosewalk, the guy with the fence. He kind of owes us.”

“I was thinking of the stair manufacturer.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun,” Squall repeated slowly, as if tasting something strange. He got up and started poking around the boxes.

“Yes, ‘fun’. You know, like when we fight, except pretend you win.” I got a scoff for that. “Anyway, that smacks of reading directions, which we both know should only be done as-” Squall said it the same time I did - “a Last Resort.” I went back to following various wires. I knew for a fact I could get the doorway open by removing a few key bits, but I also knew I’d then have to go to the hardware store and get replacement parts and messing with the stairs would turn into an all day project. Since the girls were hyped on decorating, that would send the whining into overdrive.

“Cheesecake?”

I glanced up at the picture Squall was holding. It was a nearly life sized photo of Solange, wearing nothing but one of my dress shirts and a fruit basket which she’d placed on her head at a rakish angle. She was doing a silly dance, showing a lot of leg while laughing and flirting with the camera. Solange’s dancing partner, Arien, had the picture enlarged and framed as a wedding gift. Jamie had found it in my bedroom, taken one look, and banished it to the attic.

“Ex-wife.” Come to think, Squall’s expression was a lot like hers had been.

“Not Jamie,” he pronounced. “Morgan’s mother? She’s very photogenic.”

“She’s a performer, knows how to work it.”

He made no comment, setting the picture aside and picking up the next one. Squall nodded, like he’d had something confirmed. Well, it would surprise no one who knew Jamie that she’d insisted on reusing the original frame for a picture of herself. Technically it was a picture of Jamie and Samantha, as Jamie was very much pregnant in the photograph. She was seated in the garden, wearing a flowing gown in bright colors, surrounded by leaves and gold and scarlet blossoms and looking as smug as a cat.

Feeling obligated to explain, I said, “I saved them for the girls.”

“They are both beautiful women.”

“On the outside, anyway.”

Squall found the crates marked ‘Yule” and dragged them forward. I poked at the stairs and listened to the girls play, happy to leave the heavy and dirty work to him. The noise tapered off, and Sami called up, “Daddy, when’s lunch?”

Dammit, I would have to do the hardware trip thing. “Pretty quick, Lady Bug. Just hang on.”

“Boss says if you are busy she can make peanut butter sandwiches.”

“Uncle Squall will need more coffee soon anyway. Stand clear of the hallway, ok? Where’s Boss?”

“She’s talking to Mr Howard, he’s at the door. Can she let him in?”

“Howard?” Squall asked, leaning on a stack of boxes.

“My lawyer, Thom, you met him at the Faire. Might be paperwork about the Jamie Family Day fiasco.” Louder, I said to Sami, “Tell Boss to let him in, and that we need another big strong guy to move this heavy thing.”

Squall shot me a look, admiring my bullshit. I grinned at him. And nearly fell down the hole when the stairs suddenly vanished. Squall grabbed me by the belt, Thom reached up and caught my shoulder.

“As your attorney I should advise you that going down the stairs head first sets a dangerous precedent.”

“I was blinded by that sweater.” Even Squall did a double take when he saw what Thom was presumably voluntarily wearing.

He preened, mock flexing to show off the lurid blobs of what I think were chocobos with holly wreaths around their necks. On a purple background, no less. Thom had a collection of the most eye searing, jaw dropping sweaters and ties, and they only got worse at Yule. We were all afraid to tell him how ugly they were in case Ruth made them. I thought Ruth had better taste than that, personally. She probably just needed a quick way to find Thom in the crowd of kids. “I should also mention that I am highly trained professional and member of the bar, and should not be forced to move furniture in dusty attics.”

I righted myself and Squall and handed down a few boxes of Yule stuff. “Thom, you are a lawyer. For 325 gil an hour, you’d wash my-” I remembered the acoustics. “-feet.”

“No I wouldn’t,” he said, backing down the steps and setting the boxes on the tarps. “I’d have my paralegal do it. But I’d only charge you 200 gil an hour for him.”

We moved a few more boxes. “Not seeing anything heavy, here,” Thom commented. “But I do see a few things my paralegal could handle for you for just 200 gil an hour.” He pointed to a large cobweb.

“Those are there for the ambiance,” Squall explained. “And _I_ would remove them for only 175.”

I shushed them by moving us all to the kitchen, where Morgan and Sami helped Squall made stacks of grilled peanut butter and banana sandwiches while I made coffee and poured milk. When we could talk again, Squall guided the girls to the boxes, leaving Thom with me.

“What were you guys doing up there with the stairs retracted? Canoodling?”

I stared at Thom. “Canoodling? With _Squall_? Wait, what the hell is canoodling?”

Thom just whipped out a stack of paperwork, which he had all ready to file. All that was needed was for me to nod along as he read it and then initial in various spots. “Why didn’t you have me drop by your office? How much is this costing me?”

“Hey, I’m hurt. This visit is gratis. _And_ I moved boxes.”

“Ok, what do you need?”

Thom smiled. “Well, the Sisters of Mercy are having a-”

“I’ll get my check book.”

 

He followed me into the living room while I rooted around in the roll top crap collector Jamie had hallucinated I could use for a desk. My real desk was in the back room, the size and shape of your average front door. I knew why Thom had hit me at home; at work Lani handled the charitable requests. Mainly because I never said “no”.

Squall and the girls had emptied several boxes, setting things around, and I paused a moment, taking it all in. “Wow, I forgot how ugly this stuff was.”

“You think so too, Daddy?” Sami was clearly torn between her own sense of taste and loyalty to her mother’s.

Morgan had no such problem. “It needs to go back in the boxes and we need to go shopping.”

“Oh, it’s not bad,” Thom put in. “Most of it is kind of cute.” He picked up a small metal cupcake pan that despite logic and its name, held some twigs, faux greenery, small pinecones, and some checked ribbon.

“I understand stars,” Squall said. “For the Solstice. And so shiny tin stars with star shaped holes in them, for tiny candles? So there are stars all around.”

“I forgot about those, Morgan loved them when she was little. We used yellow glowsticks.” I set the metal stars on the coffee table.

“What I don’t get is the transition to burlap stars with buttons and loops of string on them.” Squall held up a box. They weren’t all burlap, some were checked - gingham, I recalled - and calico. I remembered Jamie soaking the fabric in tea to make it look old.

Sami took one. “Mommy usually sews better than this.”

“It’s that way on purpose, rustic,” Thom explained.

“Back in the box,” Morgan said firmly.

“I’ll take them, for the white elephant sale,” Thom offered.

“Did you bring your truck?”

 

Thom did have his truck, and I managed to get rid of about half the super ugly decorations, a few boxes of baby clothes, Sami’s high chair and crib, and all 6 bags of Jamie’s magazines. Ruth taught crafting classes and apparently old magazines were pure gold. Who knew?

Squall restacked boxes in the attic and I looked around, giving serious consideration to restarting my project and turning the area into a proper office. At some point in the future Morgan was going to demand her own room, after all. She’d probably want mine.

Thom stood on the bottom step, and was tall enough that his head was above floor level. “I’ll let you know when we get a response from the filing,” he said cheerfully. “Thanks for the goodies, Ruth will have a field day.” Squall and I said our goodbyes and Thom hopped off the steps and headed for home.

I still maintain he was perfectly aware of the stairs closing up behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely self-serving whiny author note: 
> 
> I'm having a lot of trouble writing Yule, and yet there are a lot of plot points tied up with it so to make the fic go the way I want it to, Yule is important.
> 
> The problem is I wander off into pages and pages of pure drivel. This is partially because I'm older and have a lot of Yules - well, Christmases - to draw from. And partially ... 
> 
> Seifer is based a lot on my Dad, and he died last year. Now, don't panic, because I do not do death fics. I barely do angst. But I find myself wanting to have Seifer do every little thing I cherished doing with my dad during the holidays. It doesn't further the plot. It doesn't explore character. 
> 
> It isn't even making me feel better. But I've written and rewritten this part so much I can't figure out what I'm doing anymore. I give up on editing for now. 
> 
> I will get Seifer's voice back and I will get the fic on track again. Meanwhile, I think the next few chapters are going to be messy and shamefully self-indulgent. I'm sorry.


	18. Yule Shopping 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I picked up an aerosol can labeled “Trabian Snow” and looked a question at Seifer. 
> 
> “Spray on fake snow. Flocking, they call it sometimes. We don’t use it.” He tipped his head towards Samantha, who was examining a garland of plastic snowflakes. “Looks too much like whipped cream.”

The chirpy woman at the door manufacturer assured me this was their “second most common call”.

I was too embarrassed to ask what the first most common was.

There was a little lever that she theorized was still anchored down by the shipping brads. “Everyone misses it, even though we mention it in all caps on the front page of the instructions.” It was still held in place by oversized copper staples. Seifer cheerfully pried it loose and freed us, commenting that if the manufacturer truly expected anyone to see it, they needed to paint it dayglo pink because, and I repeated this with him, “Who reads instructions?”

This man is an _engineer_. I worry for our infrastructures.

 

 

“Since I owe you for upstairs,” Seifer said. I raised an eyebrow. Was he really thanking me for moving boxes? Oh, no, for not telling the girls we’d been stuck. Twice. “I’ll treat you to dinner and my World’s Famous Chili.”

“Everything Daddy cooks is ‘World’s Famous’,” Morgan explained.

“Everything you cook is grilled or comes in bag frozen and is baked on a cookie sheet,” I corrected.

“Untrue! I also nuke leftovers and this time of year I dump stuff in large pots. C’mon, I make great chili. Don’t I, girls?”

Samantha nodded. “It’s yummy if Daddy doesn’t go bonkers with the peppers.”

Morgan shrugged. “It’s ok but the cheese toast that goes with is really good. But we used up all the bread at lunch so we’ll have to go to the store.”

“It’s good chili! Great! World’s Famous!” Pouting slightly, Seifer peered into the cupboard. “But we will have to run to the store.”

“I’ll drive,” I offered. “I’m blocking you in anyway.”

“Are you sure? I’ll give you a list.”

“I thought we’d all go,” I said, surprising myself.

Morgan nodded. “We should buy some Yule decorations and we need a tree, too.”

“We have a tree!” Seifer pointed to the box.

“That’s a fake tree. It’s not alive.” Morgan said dismissively.

“What’s wrong with a fake tree? What are you, a tree snob?” Seifer sighed. “I hate to tell you this, but a tree in a pot will be just as dead by February.” To me he added, “Not even Jamie could keep one alive. Area must be bad for evergreens or something.”

I nodded. By the bedraggled look of the houseplant on the kitchen counter, I’d be surprised if the tree lasted to January.

Samantha offered, “We could get a cutted tree, from the lot.”

“Those are dead too, they just don’t know it.”

Her face fell. “Does it hurt them?”

“No, of course not.” Seifer clearly didn’t want to get into theories about the feelings of vegetation. I could see his point, it was hard enough to ensure Samantha only ate classically recognized foodstuffs as it was.

“They are sustainably planted,” I offered, “And humanely cut down by licensed farmers. They are also recyclable.”

“Humanely? Are you trying to get your paint job ruined by carting a tree?”

“That means as kindly as possible,” I explained to the girls.

“Seriously, you never get the needles out. Two things that never, ever leave a car are Yule tree needles and the faint smell of throw up.”

“I only threw up in the car once,” Samantha said. “The other times it was the truck.”

 

 

We got the girls settled in the back seat, Seifer giving way to Samantha’s indignant “I’m a big girl!” when he offered to grab a booster seat out of the truck. He stopped me as we were about to open the doors and slide into the front. “Are you sure you want to do this? Have you ever been shopping with kids?”

“It will be an experience.” He laughed. “Oh, you have no idea.”

We had barely backed out onto the street when Morgan said, “We need bread and a tree.”

“We have a tree.”

Undeterred, she continued, “I saw on tv that you can go to Grampa Moomba’s Tree Farm and cut your own.”

“I haven’t been trained on humane tree cutting, Boss,” Seifer said, happy I’d given him that excuse. We’d both chopped down trees the regular, cruel - to the lumberjack, at least - way during field exercises, and based on Seifer’s level of bitching at the time, he wasn’t going to do it again if there were any other choices. And that included hiring Thom’s paralegal at 200 gil an hour to do it for him. “Besides, Yule trees tended to grow in places with snow or at least mud up to your armpits. And often come pre-decorated with spiders and other crawly things.”

“Not the cutted ones,” Samantha said confidently. “They come in bags, I saw them.”

“There is a tree lot near Shop ‘n’ Stuff,” Morgan advised.

Genuinely curious, I asked, “What do you need a tree for?”

In the mirror I saw the girls exchanged incredulous looks. “So the Zefer can hide toys in it from the Sorceress,” Morgan explained.

I shot Seifer a questioning look. He shrugged. “Not the version we grew up with, I know. But there are books. And songs and animated shows. All the kids have the story down pat.”

“You put out hats to distract the Sorceress. You can buy them or make them. They have to be fancy but Daddy says ugly is ok too because Sorceresses have no taste.” Samantha paused, either for breath or to consider sampling a Sorceress. “Sometimes you put candy in them or stuff for Zefer’s magic chocobo. It’s gold.”

“See, first the Yule King comes and brings presents to good kids and carries the bad ones away to work in the candy mines, which is supposed to be bad but sounds pretty good unless you got stuck in the licorice mine.”

“You don’t like green mint, either,” her sister pointed out.

“Ew, those green leaf jellies? Those are horrible.” Morgan thought it over. “I don’t like hot cinnamon, either, and candy corn is just nasty. Maybe a candy mine wouldn’t be a good thing, after all.”

“Unless it’s chocolate,” Seifer offered. His daughters allowed that chocolate mines would be the best.

In the spirit of the moment, I said, “Are you ever worried the Yule King will take you away?” I glanced at Seifer. “It sounds traumatic.”

“Hey, I didn’t make this stuff up.”

“Oh no,” Samantha said confidently. “Daddy said if we were ever that bad we would have already been traded for a chicken, so not to worry.”

“That’s probably why gypsies need new kids alla time, the Yule King keeps stealing theirs.”

“Logical,” I said. Seifer tried not to laugh. “But I still don’t understand the tree.”

“After the Yule King, comes the Sorceress to steal the toys of the bad kids, except she’s not good at telling good from bad so she just steals everyone’s toys. So her loyal knight hides the toys while she tries on hats.”

“In the tree? Why not under the bed?”

Morgan and Samantha scoffed. “She’d look there. But who looks for toys in trees?”

“Why does a Sorceress want toys?”

“Everyone wants toys, Uncle Mr Leon.” The ‘don’t be silly’ was implied.

“She can’t get many if everyone knows about the hat trick,” I pointed out.

“She gets enough,” Morgan said grimly. “Last year I wrote like 5 letters to the Yule King asking for a hippopotamus and I didn’t get one.” Fairness made her add, “Not a live one like I wanted.”

Seifer sat up. “Oh ho, is that the reason behind the sudden need for a new, better tree? Boss, I hate to tell you, but there is no tree on the lot or at Uncle Moomba’s that can hide a live hippo.”

“Grampa Moomba’s,” Morgan corrected. 

“Him either. Hippos can’t climb trees and … when did my life become an elephant joke?”

“‘Booooooiiiiiinnnnng’,” I quoted, searching for a parking place. I found one, unfortunately closer to the tree lot that blocked off half the space normally allotted than to the grocery store. Seifer bailed out before I even set the parking brake, having a clue what was about to happen. I was still surprised at how quickly the girls unbuckled and departed the vehicle. They were jumping up and down and pointing to the tree lot by the time I was locking the SUV.

“Daddy! Gingerbread man!”

Conveniently parked by the tree lot was a pushcart manned by a couple wearing a stylized version of ancient Centran garb, heavily decorated with suns and stars. I had seen the like in the distance in Esther during the holiday season; naturally the Palace was capable of making their own holiday treats. The smells of gingerbread, hot apple juice, and roasting nuts were irresistible and we all drifted over.

“Ok, one slice each and then we hit the grocery store,” Seifer said, and something in his tone lead me to believe he had no faith in that plan working.

We were greeted with “Happy Holidays!” in outrageous fake accents. They were not remotely Centran but had some charm. The apple juice and roasted nuts were typical fare, but I was interested in trying the local variation of gingerbread. Seifer and I chose the round cakes made with candied orange peel and clove and decorated with blanched almonds to look like suns. The girls went for the simpler star shaped ginger cookies with lemon flavored royal icing.

From there we segued over to the pen of “magic chocobo, just like the Yule King!” They were, in fact, fairly young chicabos, still golden fluff, wearing light harnesses with jingle bells and ribbons. Due to the crisp weather they were huddled around a ceramic heater shaped like a sun and were uninterested in cookie bits offered by Morgan.

Seifer hustled us on; my eyes barely had time to water.

To clarify, Seifer hustled towards the Stop ‘n’ Stuff while Morgan and Samantha detoured to the trees. I followed the girls and with a sigh, Seifer circled back to join us. “We have a tree.”

“We’re just looking,” Morgan countered.

“Squall does not want to carry a tree home. He does not want pine needles in his car for the next millennium.”

“Most people put them on top,” I pointed out.

“It will scratch the paint.”

“It’s my coaching truck, it’s had worse.”

Seifer stared at me for a beat and threw up his hands. “Ok, we’ll look.”

Samantha pet the low hanging branches of a blue gray short needled tree. “Poor tree, did it hurt when they cutted you?”

A large man trotted up. He was wearing hip waders, an alarmingly garish flannel shirt, and a top hat. His beard was heavily decorated with ribbons, braids, and small bells. “DIDN’T HURT A BIT,” he boomed. “PUT THEM TO SLEEP FIRST. IT’S MAGIC.”

We all backed up.

“Magic,” Samantha breathed, approving.

More practical, Morgan asked, “Are they still sleeping?”

“THOSE ARE,” he gestured to a stack of trees still in the shipping netting. “THESE ONES ARE FULLY AWAKE AND READY TO GO HOME WITH YOU!”

“Daddy they want to come home with us!”

“Only one,” Seifer said feebly. He looked like he was fighting the urge to cover his ears.

“Ok!” Morgan charged off into the rows of trees, followed by the worker. We followed at a slightly more ear safe distance.

“Why is he so loud?” Samantha whispered. “To keep the trees awake?”

“Trying to be heard over his shirt is my guess. Go help Boss find a tree, Lady Bug.” Seifer turned to me. “Sorry about this.”

“I’ve never shopped for a tree before.”

“I suppose you are bit old for Zefer to be hiding toys for you. Watch and learn.”

There was a ritual. Based on no criteria I could understand, Morgan would suddenly point at a tree. Mr Magic Tree Guy, as Samantha named him, would obligingly twirl the tree out of line and into the walkway so the girls could examine it from all sides. A moment’s contemplation, a quick shake of the head, and the girls were off hunting for a different tree. After about the third offering Mr Magic Tree Guy abandoned us to assist less picky clients. That left the tree twirling to Seifer and me. There was a definite trick to it, which neither of us mastered. Instead we got pricked by sharp needles and covered in fragrant, sticky, sap.

Morgan and Samantha considered branchy trees with short, fat needles - “Easy to decorate, hard to hide toys in” and conical trees with long, dense dark green needles - “Hard to get stuff on, we’ll never find our toys in there”.

Seifer finally ran out of patience. “The next tree is The Tree, because if you have any plans to eat dinner today, we need to get to the store.”

That sent the girls scurrying up and down the rows. Morgan paused between two fairly identical, nice looking trees with medium sized needles and classic shape. She had almost decided which we were going to pull out when Samantha summoned us.

“Daddy! This one!”

Samantha had discovered a tree that had clearly met with grave difficulties on its trip from the farm, and possibly before. It was lopsided, had large bald spots, and several branches were broken. Parts of it appeared to have been gnawed by ground dwelling rodents of unreasonable size. When Seifer grabbed the tree by the trunk, needles rained from the left side. Oddly, the right side looked perfectly intact if slightly crushed.

Seifer, Morgan and I eyed it doubtfully. “Lady Bug, there is a whole lot of beautiful-”

“This tree is beautiful! It’s just had a hard life. Please, Daddy! It got put to sleep and cutted and now,” Samantha’s eyes filled with tears, “it woke up all broken and they are going to chop it up for wreaths and chip the rest. I heard them!”

“Wow,” Morgan said, patting a branch. Some more needles fell off. “That’s pretty sad.”

“It is!” Samantha agreed, possibly misinterpreting her sister’s comment. “But we can make it happy!” She turned to us, brown eyes begging harder than Angelo’s ever managed. “Please, Daddy, it’s going to die anyway, can’t it be happy a little first?”

Now Morgan was looking the tree over pityingly. “Maybe if we put lots of tinsel on it…”

“Yes! And lights, so it’s beautiful again. Please, Daddy?” Samantha gave the tree a hug and a branch fell off. “Please?”

It was quite a performance. Seifer had both hands over his face, either succumbing to his daughter’s melodrama or trying not to laugh. Finally he rubbed his scar and protested, “You’ll never hide a hippopotamus in there.”

Morgan waved that off. “I’m over hippopotamuses. This year I want a _motorcycle_.”

“Suddenly I don’t feel half as guilty about your paint job,” Seifer said to me, hefting the tree.

 

 

 

Tree Purchasing 101 continued with the discovery one cannot simply purchase a tree.

“Fake ones come with lights,” Seifer explained as we eyed the boxes stacked near the check out. “So we don’t have any.”

“You were putting up strings of lights all around your eaves this morning.”

“Those are outside lights. These are inside lights.”

I was beginning to think holidays should come with a manual.

“You have to have lots of lights,” Samantha put in. “That’s the whole point.”

Her sister was off examining the ornaments on offer.

“I thought toys were the whole point?”

“No, that’s just a side thing. I mean, toys are important. And candy. But the real thing is tons of lights because the sun sleeps in and needs to see them to get up and make days happen again. If there are no days it’s cold and dark and the flowers won’t bloom and everyone is sad.”

“Can’t have that,” I agreed.

Seifer said, “I think the lights are supposed to be stars or moonlight on snow or ice, which is goofy because it never gets that cold here.”

“If it’s starlight, why are you buying multicolored lights instead of white? Wouldn’t white be more… authentic?”

He looked down at the box. “I like the colored ones better. Anyway, you can’t make any of this make sense. Holidays don’t work like that.”

I picked up an aerosol can labeled “Trabian Snow” and looked a question at Seifer.

“Spray on fake snow. Flocking, they call it sometimes. We don’t use it.” He tipped his head towards Samantha, who was examining a garland of plastic snowflakes. “Looks too much like whipped cream.”

It came in two variations, which seemed to be ‘highly flammable’ and ‘attractive to ants’. There were also color selections ranging from slightly logical white to pale pink, purple, blue and yellow. I sat the can down quickly and asked, “Has it ever snowed here?” It never had in Esther City, but it occurred to me the tree in the foyer of the Palace always had a garlands of crystals to represent ice and snow.

“I think we get about a teacup every 40 years or so, and more often a little dusting on the tops of the hills. Never since I’ve lived here, though.”

“It rains at Yule,” Morgan supplied, handing her father a box of decorations. Seifer made a rejecting, buzzer noise and handed the box right back to her. Morgan rolled her eyes and continued, “But they never have raindrops for the trees, just snowflakes.”

“Snowflakes are prettier, that’s why.” Samantha said. “We made some at school out of paper, and Ms Atti showed us pictures of real ones. I’m glad it doesn’t snow here.”

“Why?” Morgan asked, distracted from returning the box by garlands that looked like sparkling paper had been run through a paper shredder.

“They are all sharp, it would hurt.”

“I think they are way little.”

“Nuh-uh, the size of a paper plate. We used regular construction paper to make them.” Samantha shrugged. “Anyway, little things can hurt, too. Like splinters.”

“It has to be really cold to snow,” Seifer pointed out. “So you would be wearing coats and hats and gloves and thus be protected. Snow is like shaved ice for snow cones, it can be sharp but it melts fast.”

“Ooh, does it come in flavors?”

Morgan pointed to a box of pink and purple pine cones and Seifer shook his head. She held up what looked like a giant plastic glitter coated chocobo feather and Seifer crossed his index fingers like a child warding off a vampire attack. She sighed but managed to get him to agree to a box of stylized plastic fruit and some basic shiny gold balls.

Mr Magic Tree Guy finally spotted us and disentangled himself from a middle aged couple who were fighting over whether their parlor ceiling was eight and a half feet or nine feet high. He pointed to a display we’d overlooked, which consisted of large green metal pieces, red bowls with holes in the sides, eyebolts, and other odds and ends. “GOT TO HAVE A TREE STAND,” Mr Magic Tree Guy explained. “OTHERWISE IT WILL DEAD AS POODLE SKIRTS BY NEW YEAR’S.” He finally took a good look at the tree we’d dragged up, and the trail of needles behind it. “...BUT I CAN SEE YOU LIKE IT LIKE THAT.”

“No, give us a stand,” Seifer said wearily. “Might help cut the fire hazard.” He handed the man the decorations and a large box of colored lights guaranteed to twinkle in 12 different configurations.

Morgan set 4 boxes of tinsel on the counter. “THAT’S A LOT OF TINSEL, LITTLE MISS.”

“Not nearly enough,” she said grimly, going back for more. There was a gunshot-like snap of a branch breaking, and the Almasys and Mr Magic Tree Guy looked over to where the helpers, with a noticeable pile of needles collecting at their feet, were trying to stuff the remains of the tree into a net bag. I used their distraction to straighten and pretend I wasn’t reaching for a gunblade; I felt less foolish when I caught Seifer dismissing a _Shield_ spell.

Mr Magic Tree Guy sighed. “LOOK, WE HAVE DISCOUNT TREES. WHY DON’T I SHOW YOU SOME OF THEM AND WE’LL PITCH THAT SAD MESS INTO THE CHIPPER?”

Samantha burst into tears. “Don’t kill it, it’s not its fault!” She ran over to hug the tree. “Daaa-deeee!”

At the wail, Morgan dropped several packages of tinsel and came running, brows furrowed and fist clenched, ready to defend her little sister from anything and everything.

One of the helpers, panicked by the sudden appearance of a hysterical child, let go of the roll of netting, which unrolled like magic carpet. The second, trying to help, lost his pointed hat and one of his fake elf ears.

Mr Magic Tree Guy began apologizing in earnest. “OH HEY SWEETIE I DIDN’T MEAN IT, HONEY, I’M SO SORRY…” Unbelievably, stress made him even louder.

Seifer was laughing so hard his knees buckled and he had to clutch the wooden counter for support. He nearly upended it, it was a makeshift affair balanced on two sawhorses. Instead of being embarrassed he just laughed more.

Everyone was staring at us.

I tried to fade into the background but Morgan stumbled to a halt and grabbed my hand. “Unclemisterleon, _what the hell_?”

Helplessly, I pointed to her father. And to Samantha, who was kicking at the second helper and defending her tree.

Morgan rolled her eyes and dragged me over to her sister. “Hyne on the half shell! You kicked his ear off!”

 

 

Somehow Morgan convinced both her sister and the clearly astonished tree seller we were honestly determined to purchase that particular specimen and take it home with us. Apologies were offered all around, Seifer paid and tipped handsomely, the helper found both his hat and his ear. Mr Magic Tree Guy, grateful to see us go, threw in a lurid plastic tree topper for free. It was one of those suns with a face and expression of drunken joy. It was also violently orange, which amused Seifer no end.

We strapped the tree to the roof of my SUV with rope donated by one of the helper elves. It was a challenge because if we tied it down tightly we risked further injury and if it wasn’t fastened tight enough, we’d lose the tree on the way home. “And Sami would make us go back and rescue it again,” Seifer confirmed, patting the last knot.

The tree lot cranked up their sound system and the girls were currently dancing and singing about dashing through the snow by the chicabos. Some of the birds were bobbing their heads along confusedly.

“So,” Seifer said, “You want to stay with the car and guard the tree?”

I blinked at him, feeling ditched, until I realized Seifer had somehow noticed my discomfort earlier and was giving me an out. “Seifer, no one is going to steal this tree. I can’t believe you paid for it.”

“I’m a little surprise, myself. Chalk up to being caught up in the spirit of the season. I gotta warn you, it will only get worse in the store.”

“I work with children, remember?”

“Who says I was talking about them?”

 

 

Before we went in, Seifer held a short meeting. “Samantha, do not run off again like you did at the tree place.”

“But the tree, Daddy, I had to save it!”

“You could have gotten hurt.”

“Nuh-uh, I’m careful!”

“The thing is Lady Bug, you are too little to see all the stuff that can hurt you. I saw it and Squall saw it and it scared us and that’s not a good way to feel. Even Boss was scared for you. So inside the grocery store where it’s busy and crowded, I want you holding onto me or Squall or Morgan the whole time. Got it?”

“Not me,” Morgan said. “I got stuff to do or this show will never get on the road.”

“Oh really?” Seifer asked his eldest, steering us inside. “Holding up progress, are we?” He held out his hand to Samantha but she skipped over to me. I nodded to him, accepting the responsibility.

The owners of the grocery store knew their business. It was chilly outside and getting dim – a combination of the short winter days and clouds gathering on the horizon, promising more rain. Inside it was warm, well lit, and heavily scented with cinnamon and fresh bread. We all paused on the threshold to take deep breaths. Samantha had to rub her glasses on her coat because they fogged up.

Seifer took a shopping cart, which Morgan immediately demanded to “drive”, before listing the things they needed- “Apples, bread, eggs, Yule candy…”

“Yule candy? Is it Yule?”

“No… not yet.”

“Then we don’t need Yule candy. But we do need bread. And beans…” Seifer pointed down a row. “We can trade kids over in the meat department, Squall.” They set off.

Abandoned, I eyed shopping carts and asked Samantha, “Do you ride in the cart?”

“That’s for _babies_ , Uncle Mister Leon.”

“If I get a small basket, will you help me carry it?”

She lit up. “Yes!”

This was my first holiday season “out on the economy”. Years past I’d been cocooned at Garden or in the Palace. The holidays are celebrated with gusto in Esther City and particularly at the Palace, but that generally required more than one formal suit, a lot of late nights nibbling things on crackers, and public rituals. Laguna and I would sneak into the kitchens and sample cookies and traditional pastries and cook a little if time allowed. Generally, Yule was a pain in the ass.

However, the displays in the grocery store were hard to resist. Right by the door were beribboned baskets of apples and citrus, nuts and dried fruit, gourds, berries, spices, dried flowers, scented pine cones and beeswax candles.

I paused. “Do you know what to do with all these?”

“Mommy makes centerpieces and pies and stuff. And some you can just eat.”

The strong cinnamon scent was coming from a bag of pine cones. I picked it up.

My expert companion said, “Those don’t smell as good burnt. Daddy says you really aren’t supposed to smell smoke if your chimney works right.”

“What else do you do with them?”

“You just have them, so your house smells good.”

By the intensity of the aroma, it could scent my entire apartment complex. I put them back.

We skipped produce, having no immediate needs there, and foolishly headed down the baking aisle. In addition to the typical goods there were colored sugars, flavored icings, cake, cookie, muffin and scone mixes. There were 7 kinds of sugar. There were candied fruits and spices and flowers. An entire shelf was devoted to bags, cupcake papers, and sugar decorations in holiday themes. Samantha gave a sigh of pure joy.

It was tempting. There was a lot I could do with crystallized ginger, cake molds shaped like leaves or tiny yule logs, varieties of chocolate, pre-chopped nuts of every kind. They had stir ins for cookies that ranged from coffee flavored chips to crushed peppermint candies. Tonight, however, there was chili for dinner and Samantha’s delicate stomach and Morgan’s distrust of exotic flavors. I picked up a small sack of flour. “Have you ever had shortbread?”

“Mommy buys tiny little loaves of hard bread and puts stuff on it for parties.”

“These are cookies, we’ll make some for after dinner.” I added sugar to the basket, just to be on the safe side. That made it too heavy for Samantha but she held onto the handle and we pretended she was helping carry it. After a short discussion about the merits of sweet butter vs salted, Samantha and I met up with Seifer and Morgan just as the butcher was handing over a packet wrapped in white paper.

“Where have you been? We’re ready to check out.” Morgan was still in possession of the shopping cart, which was now filled with various vegetables and canned goods in addition to the required bread and apples.

“Looking at stuff,” her sister replied serenely.

“Well no point because Daddy says it’s too early to buy Yule candy.”

“I didn’t even _see_ Yule candy.” Because I avoided that area. “We looked at butter. It makes a difference what kind you get. You’d know that if you were a cook.”

“I don’t need to cook, that’s what the microwave is for.”

Interrupting to head off a fight, Seifer said, “I will let you girls each pick out one pack of sugar free gum for being helpful in the store, so decide what flavor you want.”

“That’s hard because I got red for strawberry last time and it was cinnamon and too hot.”

“I know, they color the packages funny. But Morgan can read most of them to you and Squall and I will help.”

“Cinnamon is red,” Morgan said, “but raspberry is blue, which is stupid, because raspberries are red.”

“Maybe they ran out of reds”, Seifer offered.

Scandalized, Samantha said, “You can’t run out of red, there are a jillion reds, haven’t you ever looked at the nail polish and lipstick?”

“They could make cinnamon brown like it’s supposed to be and then raspberry could be red.” The package coloring seemed to offend Morgan on a personal level. “Who ever heard of a blue raspberry?”

“I think blue raspberries are called blackberries,” Seifer said.

“Ok, that makes no sense at _all_.” Morgan frowned at the selection. “I’m going to get regular bubble gum.”

“I’ll take this yellow one. Yellow almost always tastes good. Lemon. Banana. Pineapple.”

An androgynous young person came up, waiting for the girls to make their choices and get in line. Since they only had a few items, I waved them ahead.

“Am I going to get cuts too?” The speaker pulled up behind Seifer, his cart overloaded.

“Not your lucky night, Pal,” Seifer said dismissively. He took the gum from Morgan and Samantha. “This is coconut pineapple, Lady Bug, you good with that?”

“Yum!”

“‘Lady Bug’”, mocked the man with the full cart. He was showing signs of having been drinking, and the contents of his cart didn’t bode well for a healthy lifestyle. Neither did mocking Seifer.

Seifer and Morgan exchanged glances. I was getting the warning prickles of an Almasy temper about to go off. “Boss,” Seifer said casually, “I forgot to get milk. Can you run get a half gallon? That’s the fat rectangle, not the jug or the skinny one. You know which one to get?”

“I know!” She slipped past us and ran for the dairy section. Seifer watched her in the large convex security mirror.

“You gotta go to the end of the line if you don’t have all your stuff,” Full Cart Man pronounced.

“Everyone is as anxious as you are for you to be heading home,” I said soothingly.

Seifer snorted.

The elderly woman who was actively checking out was laboriously writing a check. She was having difficulty and dropped her pen twice. Both times the androgynous teen gallantly picked it up for her. The full cart man was muttering under his breath.

Samantha stood on her toes and peered at the goods on the counter, which included the teen’s merchandise. “Oh what pretty nail polish!”

The polish in question was a dark blue. The teen blushed. “Thanks.”

“Hyne!” Full Cart Man said. “Bags and fags, what next?”

Oblivious, Samantha advised, “Are you going to do your toes, too? You should get the clear kind with green sparkles to go over it. Then you can be a mermaid!”

“Please do your toes, Gay Boy.” Full Cart Man said in a simpering tone.

Seifer’s head snapped up. I fought the urge to reach for a gunblade I wasn’t carrying. I did check the exits out of ingrained habit.

One thing a bully like Seifer cannot stand is another bully.

“You got something to say?” Seifer drawled. “You got some pithy comment you feel the burning need to get off your chest? Pal?” Seifer popped the P in pal like a thrown gauntlet. “Some well thought out discussion on alternative lifestyles that are, by the way, none of your Hynebedamned business?”

He still had one eye on the mirror, watching Morgan, so Seifer had his back to the man, which is the only reason I can think of that Full Cart Man didn’t grasp the warning he was being given. “Oh come on, the guy next to him is prettier than my sister. This whole place is crawling with queers.”

I moved slightly to shield the mortified teen from the bigot’s view.

The little old lady murmured, “You are a lovely person, dear, ignore that idiot.”

“Great, the old bat is a fag hag.”

Seifer spun around. “You got some intelligent light to shine on a purely theoretical, rational debate about people’s private lives? _That you want to submit in front of my little girls?_ ”

Suicidally brave, Full Cart Man threw up his hands. “You are all faggots and fag lovers!”

I was debating if I should try and stop Seifer in the narrow aisle or just stand back and call Thom to arrange bail when Samantha darted around me.

“I know that word! That is _not_ a nice word!” She pointed at Full Cart Man. “My mommy said if you use words that aren’t nice people will think _you_ aren’t nice! No one will want to be your friend! And you will have to eat your lunch all by yourself.”

“So there, neh,” the cashier muttered, quickly checking the teen out and reaching for my basket.

“I don’t have to take-” Full Cart Man started, only to be interrupted again by an Almasy.

“Hey, Mister,” Morgan said, lugging a half gallon of milk. “This is a 15 or less line, you need that line over there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you don't share my encyclopedic knowledge of elephant jokes:
> 
> Why do elephants wear springs on their feet?  
> So they can jump up in trees and tickle the monkeys.
> 
> What sound do monkeys hate most?  
> Booooiiiiiinnnngggg...Booooiiiiiinnnngggg...Booooiiiiiinnnngggg...


	19. Chili and Tree Makeovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s a very sad tree. People will think we are mean to trees.”
> 
> “We will make it beautiful again! Tree-makeover!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny slice of Yulishness. There is more, if the words ever cooperate.

“Ok, Team, listen up,” Seifer said as we carried the groceries into the house. “I have to get the chili going or we are all going to starve to death waiting for supper.”

“We left the tree on Uncle Mr Leon’s car.”

“Yeah, because that poor thing won’t survive being dragged all over the house while you girls decide where you want it. And neither will the carpet.”

“You have to put the stand together first,” Morgan reminded us.

“Squall will do that while I’m making the chili. What you girls are going to do is pick where the tree is going to stand.”

I saluted and sat down on the foyer tiles to open the heavy box that held the tree stand and start assembling.

“It goes in the front window so everyone can see it,” Samantha said.

“I’m not sure we want everyone to see it,”Seifer called over his shoulder. “It’s a very sad tree. People will think we are mean to trees.”

“We will make it beautiful again! Tree-makeover!”

Morgan nodded. “That’s why I got eleven boxes of tinsel.”

“Why eleven?” I asked.

“That’s all they had.”

 

The girls argued and finally I was called upon to help. Morgan had me stand in various places around the living room and den. “Try to look like the tree.”

Proving that Seifer had evolved the parental ability to hear conversations in the next room, he called out, “Hyne, don’t beat Squall up so he looks authentic!” He was frying spicy sausage with garlic and onions and I had to admit it smelled good.

“You could put the sunface topper thing on your head,” Samantha suggested. 

Seifer nearly killed himself dashing into the main room. “Morgan? Where’s your camera?”

“No,” I said.

Seifer made a great show of trudging dejectedly back to the stove. I flashed him a classic gesture when the girls weren’t looking. He laughed.

Morgan ran off to find her camera. Taking the advantage of lack of opposition, Samantha instructed me to put the tree stand in the big front window. 

Her sister protested immediately upon her return. “Hey! We said the wall by the hallway.”

“You said,” Samantha corrected. “That’s a stupid place. This is where it goes. No one will see it there.”

“That was kind of the point,” Morgan muttered, but she gave in when I pointed out that the farther away from the fireplace the better.

We set the heavy metal stand in place, turning it several times in an attempt to minimize the trip hazard. 

“What you do now,” Seifer said, raising his voice over the sound of the can opener, “is put the tree in the red bowl thing and then try to hold it steady while someone crawls under the tree and turns the eyebolts.”

“That’s your job,” I told Morgan. 

She nodded and handed her camera to Samantha. “Don’t break it.”

“I can’t even work it, the battery thing has a red line.”

“Boogers, I forgot to charge it.”

I handed my phone to Samantha. “Boogers?”

“It’s a very good swear. No one likes it so everyone knows you are mad, but no one can say it’s a dirty word. And it’s fun to say - boogers boogers boogers.”

Seifer made gagging noises. “Hyne on the half shell, turn on some mood music before we all lose our appetites.”

Morgan found some holiday standards and Samantha assisted me in bringing in the tree by talking soothingly to it while I maneuvered it off the truck and into the house. We lost an impressive amount of needles considering it was wrapped in red and green netting. 

With the intuitive skill of a small child raised around technology, Samantha found the camera setting on my phone and walked around, taking shots from all angles. “We need good before and after pictures of the makeover.”

The tree was not heavy - around fifty pounds- but it weighed enough that the awkward shape made it slightly taxing to align and balance in the red holder.   
Morgan obligingly crawled under the tree. “Wow these are hard to turn.”

I tried to reach down but it was impossible to help Morgan and hold the tree at the same time. I wondered if I could hold it from below and turn the eyebolts. 

“Tree’s crooked,” Samantha said authoritatively. She held her arm up and angled it, trying to show which way the tree was leaning. 

“We aren’t done yet!” Morgan rolled over on her stomach to get better leverage on the eyebolt. Needles cascaded gently over her. “Ow, these are stabby.”

“It’s getting crookeder.”

I tipped the tree more to left.

“Hyne, there are three of them!” Morgan wiggled around, bumping the tree and dislodging a tiny pinecone.

“Oh, look, it has babies!” Samantha pounced on the pine cone and tried to set it back in the branches.

“Samantha, stay back until we are sure the tree isn’t going to fall on you.”

“And you are standing on my hair, Boogerhead. Get off!”

She skipped back out of the way, pinecone cradled in the crook of her arm like a tiny infant. “Daddy! Morgan called me a Boogerhead!”

“Are you a Boogerhead?”

“No!”

From under the tree was a faint, “Yes!” but fortunately Samantha didn’t hear it. 

“Great, problem solved. How are you doing with the tree?”

“It’s very crooked.”

“I think it just is crooked, Samantha. Like the crooked man who walked a crooked mile.” To show willing, I tipped the tree a little more towards the back. 

“Ok, all done.” Morgan crawled out from under the tree, covered in needles. They stuck to her sweater and were in her hair. “Yuck, I smell like a green candle.” She shook her arm with the cast. “I think I got needles stuck in the cast, it itches.” She pulled a few out of the grubby padding around her fingers and thumb. 

“You got all three bolts?”

She nodded, so I carefully let go of the tree. The girls eyed it doubtfully. 

From the kitchen, Seifer asked, “You didn’t screw the bolts too far into the wood, did you?”

Morgan blinked. “They are supposed to touch the tree?”

I managed to catch it before it hit the floor. 

 

“What we need now is something to keep the girls distracted for about an hour while the chili cooks and you and I deal with the shittiest part of Yuletime.”

“Excessive maudlin requests for donations? Pumpkin spice latte? Canned holiday music that sounds like it is being sung by a choir of zombies on valium?”

Seifer stared at me. “Whoa, you just lost your crown in the Mr Festive Contest. Although I’m 100% with you on any weird ass flavored coffee. Leave well enough alone, Hyne.” 

“This from the man who pollutes his coffee with milk and sugar.”

“Only when we are out of half and half.”

I won points back by suggesting the girls make garlands out of the stale cereal and dental floss. Seifer muttered about ants but was cheered by the idea of getting rid of some of the various vibrantly colored boxes. We settled them at the coffee table by the fire, singing along with the holiday music on the sound system. Samantha was sorting cereal bits by color and shape; Morgan was randomly stringing anything with a hole in it.

“You have not experienced the true misery of Yule until you have twined twinkling lights all around a dying pine that doesn’t want to be lit.”

“How do you know it doesn’t want to be lit?”

“You can just tell,” Seifer said darkly. 

It took us approximately three minutes to determine the tree did not want to be lit. In addition, the lights did not want to come out of the box and if forced, curled themselves instantly into knots. It was becoming an educational day, and Seifer’s cursing widely expanded my vocabulary. 

Seifer started at the top of the tree with his share of the lights and “Hyne”. He rapidly progressed to “Holy hopping half assed Hyne hanging on the high wire.” My job was to follow him around the tree, holding the unused portions of the lights to pre-empt more tangles, and to cough or otherwise camouflage the more colorful terms. Midway down the tree I was forced to go turn the music up; Seifer obligingly switched to WuTai and then to Ancient Cetran for his cussing. 

My respect for the decorating team who handled the giant firs at the palace increased exponentially. 

We eventually wound all 1000 tiny lights around the tree without breaking any more branches or dislodging the remaining needles, and retreated to the kitchen for coffee. Seifer offered a hit of Thom’s cordial, which was tempting, but I had to drive home and he wouldn’t drink alone. We spent a few satisfactory minutes brushing pine needles off each other with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. 

As guest of honor, I was allowed to place the lurid sun topper. I suspected Seifer was aware that the tree had no single terminating branch but several. I finally bound them together with a green shoelace donated by Morgan and forced the topper on. It tilted slightly to the right. 

The girls took over, placing the new and chosen few of the older ornaments. We helped drape the cereal garlands and placed decorations on the higher branches as instructed. Seifer put battery operated candles in the tin stars and lit the room with a tiny flickering galaxy. 

Once the tree was as covered as it could bear with plastic fruit, stale cereal, candy canes, shiny gold balls, paper snowflakes and small stars and suns, we took a break for dinner. 

The chili was excellent, more of a spicy tomato and bean soup than the thick Galbadian version Irvine poured over hot dogs, hamburger patties, and, if allowed, scrambled eggs. True to Morgan’s demands Seifer served the chili with a side of his Worlds Famous Cheese Bread - which turned out to be thick slices of bread pressed into a nonstick pan sprinkled with grated parmesan and dried parsley. 

Seifer had a hard time keeping the girls from wolfing their food. They were in a rush to get back to the tree and see the lights. Samantha, in particular, had been harping on the lights for most of the afternoon. 

“You don’t turn the lights on until it’s all done,” Seifer explained. “Then, it’s magic.”

I glanced at the little tree and back at Seifer. We wordlessly agreed it would take more than mere magic to make that tree look less like a reject.

Fortunately, there was more than mere magic available. We had eleven boxes of tinsel.

 

Morgan gleefully handed each of us a box. “What you do is, stand back and throw it at the tree.”

“What?”

“Well,” Seifer said, “Mother Nature doesn’t carefully drape a single strand over each branch and twig. Or maybe she does, but she isn’t here. The Almasy theory is, if it sticks, it stays. If it falls off, pick it up and throw it again.”

Seifer and I positioned ourselves on either side of the tree, near the window, so we could lean back and throw tinsel at the part of the tree seen from the street. And at each other. Tinsel stuck very well to sweaters, sweatshirts, skin, carpet, and hair. It adhered less well to the Yule tree, a fact that had zero effect on those of us throwing the stuff. The ritual was to throw all the tinsel in your box, then peel off what was stuck to you and throw that. Then you had the option of opening another box or trying to get some off the carpet. 

We moved slowly around the tree, trying to approach from all angles. Seifer deliberately sprinkled both his daughters with liberal amounts; I shared my last box with them so we could all throw tinsel at Seifer instead of the tree. When the last bit was finally brushed off the carpet - with a bit of carpet fluff and a few pine needles embedded in - the tree had taken on a traditional, conical shape from the sheer volume of eleven boxes of silvery plastic strings. 

Seifer ran the vacuum while I disposed of the boxes and clutter. Samantha and Morgan carefully spread a circular cloth embroidered with oak leaves, ivy, and berries around the foot of the tree, hiding the stand.

Then we turned off all the house lights, and formed a semicircle in the dim firelight, facing the tree. Seifer ceremoniously raised the remote and the tree lit up. The tinsel and ornaments glittered, the lights twinkled, and the tree was actually beautiful. 

It was magic.

Then the tree started strobing with all the lights flashing on and off rapidly. “Damn, didn’t this thing come with a playlist?” Seifer started punching buttons, causing random changes in the lighting and twinkling. 

“It’s still pretty crooked,” Morgan said. 

“Daddy, there are two red lights together on that side and too many green ones over there.” Samantha put in. 

Morgan continued, “And we have to go outside and make sure it looks good from the street.”

We all trooped out to admire the lights on the house and how the tree looked from the sidewalk, which was surprisingly good. Then the girls wanted to look at the neighbor’s decorations and compare. I slipped back inside to make the shortbread. 

Seifer and his daughters returned and theoretically started cleaning up the remaining storage boxes and packing stuff. I joined them after putting the shortbread in the oven to find the Alamsy family collapsed on the floor midst wads of tissue paper. They had found some of those leather straps with harness bells on them and were singing “Jingle Bells.” I paused in the doorway to watch, but Seifer spotted me and gestured me over. I realized then he was holding my cell phone up and was recording their efforts. 

I got closer, mainly to reclaim my phone, and Seifer grabbed me with his free hand and tugged me down into the mess of papers. In retaliation, I took a strip of harness bells and jingled them in a desultory way while chanting “jingle” in a monotone. Seifer, with his deeper voice, was going with “Jing-jing-jingling Jing-jing-jingling”. The girls carried the tune, doing quite well: “Oh what fun it is to run when your chocobo gets away! Jingle all the wayyyy!” When the song was done, we all put our heads together (me because Seifer had a grip on my shirt) and harmonized “Jingle all the way! No one likes a half assed jingler!”

When I forwarded that later to Laguna, it broke up a cabinet meeting. I felt it was a good day’s work.


	20. Details, Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you know,” Sami said conversationally, “you can’t iron a marshmallow?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little filler chapter dealing with a few loose threads.

Thom had the whole ‘no passing city limits’ thing taken care of, mainly by reminding the judge and Jamie that not only was the only hospital in the county in the next town over, but also Sami’s specialist and ophthalmologist. We mutually agreed to expand the ‘no call no worries zone’ to an hour drive in any direction but required each parent to consult with and gain permission of the other in case of longer journeys or events that took more than a day. 

The real crux of the hearing - the fact that no way was Sami moving to Esther with Jamie and Professor Prick - was postponed until after the new year. It would have been quick and easy if Jamie’s overzealous attorney hadn’t tried to win back some points after getting an ass chewing for ‘quite nearly unethical behavior’ from the judge. 

“We’d like this settled sooner as my client’s husband is starting his new job in Esther in February.”

“Court calendar is full, Counselor, and the Court sees no pressing reason to rearrange it.”

“There is concern about Mr Almasy’s constant companion and his influence on the children. Mr Leon, isn’t it? Who is openly homosexual.”

She brought up Squall. She made a snarky, completely scurrilous, hint attack about him being gay. On _public record_. 

My head exploded. I was on my feet in a heartbeat. “Just a Hynebedamned minute here.”

Behind me, Thom was hissing, “Don’t make me turn this into a gay rights battle, Sorrel, because I -”

“Counselor,” the judge started, then turned and said, “Counselor?” 

Thom stood, too, and tried the reassuring hand-on-the-shoulder, sit-back-down, I’ve-got-this gesture. I shrugged him off and turned on the smug bag of organs Jamie had hired to do her dirty work. A brain cell pinged on and I turned back to the judge, instead. 

It helped that Thom was murmuring in my ear, “For the love of Hyne, don’t get arrested for assault in the damn courtroom, you’ll never get custody.”

“Over and above the fact that Squall is the finest man you’ll ever meet,” I said, “and that casting aspersions on any person based on that person’s lifestyle is low, cheap, and mean -”

“Illegal,” Thom added helpfully.

“Yes, thank you, Mr Almasy.” If the judge clenched her teeth any tighter her dentures would shatter.

“I’d like to point out that it is nobody’s goddamn business whom I sleep with.”

“Yes, thank you, Mr Almasy. Counselor, get your client under control, please.”

I wasn’t having it until my bit got into the court record, too. “In fact, there are only two reasons anyone at anytime should be interested in with whom an unmarried adult sleeps. One is you have a legit reason to think not everyone involved is joyously consensual, and let me reassure you, Squall and I know how to defend ourselves. The other is that you’d like to be a part of said sleeping arrangement.” I mock bowed to Jamie. “And that ship has _sailed_.”

“Long ago,” she agreed unnecessarily. Jamie did look a bit shell shocked, though, so perhaps her lawyer hadn’t told her about dragging Squall into things. 

“Thank you, Mr Almasy. Court dismissed. Counselors, my chambers _right now_.”

I took a deep breath and patted Thom on the shoulder. “Don’t get arrested for assault.”

He glinted his glasses at me. “No promises.”

 

That was my Monday, and the week was only going to get better because Tuesday was Town Council Meeting Night. 

Your average Town Council Meeting could make a person reflect back fondly on a root canal, and it’s even worse when you aren’t allowed to _Firaga_ anyone. I had to go anyway because it was part of my job. I had Lani to thank that it wasn’t my full time job.

Originally I was going to donate my time, since the town needed help and I lived there and felt I should do my part. Lani explained to me the counter intuitive concept that public officials will abuse the shit out of you if you give them free stuff but will respect you if you are as expensive as hell. It had to do with the old idea of getting what you pay for; small town officials seem to think the more something costs, the more it’s worth. This explains a lot about their budgeting system.

Lani informed me that if I donated my time I would get calls at 3 am and requests to come fix the mayor’s propane barbecue and be blamed for street lights taking too long. If I set a jaw dropping fee, they wouldn’t bother me unless it was important. She named an amount and I figured I’d never be called for any reason whatsoever and felt mildly guilty. 

Then I met the mayor and guilt turned to relief.

The mayor and I were not destined to be best friends. His sole qualification for his job was being born, something the white wiggly things in a rotten piece of fruit have also accomplished. I’m going to drop that analogy now, because I could carry it on at length. Suffice to say, maggots would be an improvement if for no other reason than it’s legal to kill them.

Thank Hyne I only had to show up once a quarter. In fact, I wouldn’t have had to show up this time at all, since it was the holiday season, but I was the one who had called the meeting. It was too late to convince Town Council about the Sky Creek Bridge or the levees along Riverbend, but I hoped to at least get some sandbagging stations set up. If the weatherman was accurate, we were going to need them. 

The girls lounged on my bed as I tried to find a tie and clean shirt combo. We’d dealt with some separation anxiety in the past, fairly logical considering Jamie had dumped all three of us, but most of the time they got on well with the babysitter and were cool with me going out. 

I held up my best chances at looking decent. “What do you think?”

My critics reviewed the shirt and tie. Morgan said, “Why is there a weird splotch in the pattern on the tie?”

“Pizza.” I sighed and threw the tie towards the dry cleaning pile. “I wish you could iron.” Back to the closet.

“Me too, I like the sizz the hot metal makes when it melts the crayons.” Morgan mimed flattening the duvet.

“Did you know,” Sami said conversationally, “you can’t iron a marshmallow?”

“No, and I’m terrified to find out how _you_ know.” I glanced up from riffling through the tie choices to see Sami smile mysteriously. “Do we need a new iron?”

Morgan sat up. “We have an iron?”

“Maybe.” I wondered if I should find the thing and lock it in the trunk of car. I do trust my girls not to touch stuff I told them were unsafe; the tricky part being figuring out what all is safe around intelligent and inventive kids. The correct answer is... Nothing. The old merc who taught improvised weaponry back at Garden had nothing on a toddler in your average office space.

The next tie and shirt combo got a gasp from Sami. “Oh Daddy, _no_. Nonono. No.” 

I made a chastised and frightened face and looked to my eldest for support. She was frowning, it must be really bad. Can women see colors men can’t? I could tell red from green, I thought I was golden. 

Sami finally found a tie she liked with my suit, but she made me change shirts. I put her to work shining my shoes while I dressed; she loves playing with the brushes and chamois. Morgan sat on the edge of my bed, her frown more pronounced. 

“You are being awfully fancy. Is this a date?”

“When do I go on dates?” Hyne, my last date had been Jamie. And see how that worked out. “It’s Tuesday, no one goes on dates on school nights.”

We were going over bedtimes and rules when the babysitter finally knocked. I was lucky Portia had no social life and was willing to do her homework at our place in exchange for food and gil. I had no illusions about who would be really be in charge, but at least Portia could work the fire extinguisher and would probably call me before things got too out of hand. 

Except it wasn’t Portia at the door. I blinked at the young woman on the stoop.

“Do you remember me, Mr Almasy?”

I was trying to. 

“Corde-”

“Cori! Look at you!” Cordelia had been Morgan’s first babysitter when we moved to the neighborhood. In my defense, she’d been away to college for the past few years and I hadn’t seen her. She’d grown up. And dyed her hair mint green. “What a surprise, great to see you, come in.”

“I hope you don’t mind but I was visiting and Port has a cold and I thought-”

“What the hell is this?” Morgan stood, fists on her hips, and gave both of us a scathing look. “I thought you said no one went on dates on a school night!”

“Boss, this is -”

She made a chopping motion with her good hand, something I suspect she learned from Squall. “Don’t care, get rid of her.”

“Morgan! You are so big! And this must be Sami.” Cordelia was all smiles, and amused enough to ignore the bad manners. 

Morgan moved to shield her little sister from view. “Don’t bother buttering us up because you aren’t staying.”

“Morgan!”

“You said you were done with women!”

I pointed. “Kitchen, _now_.” When Morgan stalked off, I turned to Cordelia. “I’m sorry, misunderstanding, I’ll be right back. Sami, help Cordelia hang up her coat, please.”

I followed Morgan, half listening to Cordelia and Sami to make sure I wasn’t going to have to grovel and apologize on behalf of both my offspring. 

Sami was doubtful but willing. She aired her concerns. “Daddy said Portia was going to make us cocoa.”

“I can do that, too.” 

“You know the secret ingredient?”

“I’m the one who taught Port how to make it.”

Since they were bonding nicely, I turned to my eldest. “You want to explain to me what the hell that was all about?”

“ _You_ want to explain why you are sneaking out on a date? You promised no more women!” Morgan was leaning against the refrigerator, arms folded across her chest. “You lied to us.”

“Morgan, that’s bullshit and so is your behavior. Haven’t I always told you to check the facts before flinging a fit?”

“Then what is she doing here? She’s all dressed up, you are all dressed up, what the hell?” She kicked the dishwasher. “I’m not doing this again, having some woman come in and mess everything up and leave us. I’ll go live in Turtle Bay with Aunt Fuu. I’ll go live in a box under the freeway.”

I took a deep breath. “What you are going to do is shut up and listen to your father. I have exactly 23 minutes to get across town to the Hynebedamned Town Council meeting. You know I hate those and you know they make me crabby and you know better than to jerk my chain on Town Council night.”

I got a cautious nod. 

“That’s Cordelia, Portia’s sister. She must be in town visiting the family and wanted to see you. She used to babysit for you all the time.”

“I don’t remember her.”

“You were way little. I think she left for school right after Sami was born.”

Uncertainty, Morgan said, “You aren’t dating her?”

“Nope, never have, never will.” For one thing, she’s way too young for me, ew. “I’m not dating anyone.”

Morgan digested that for a few heartbeats. My temper edged away when I noticed how truly upset she was. “...am I stupid?”

“You were acting kind of like a dumbass but I don’t think there’s permanent damage. Want to come apologize so I can hit the road?”

“I guess so. I hate having to apologize.”

“Then remember: facts before fits.” I took Morgan’s hand and led her back out. 

“You should apologize too because you totally lied about dating someone.”

“When? When did I lie? Who am I dating?”

She grinned at me. “Uncle Mr Leon!”

...Wait, what?

 

I hope it won’t ruin the holidays for anyone if I mention that it wasn’t the Yule King who supplied the toys and it wasn’t my old pal Zefer who hid them in the tree. The truth of the matter was, dear old dad needed to hit the mall over in Rocky Valley. 

It’s a twenty minute drive, and hopefully we wouldn’t be trapped there all Hynebedamned day, but on Thom’s advice, I decided to call and alert Jamie anyway. 

Never one to waste time, as soon as she answered with “What now?” I launched into my spiel. 

“I want to take the girls to Rocky.”

“Fine, thank you, thanks for asking. Why Rocky Valley?”

Why do I have to obey the social niceties and she doesn’t? “Yeah, good morning and all that crap. Yule shopping.” I decided to throw a bone in the spirit of the season. “You want me to steer them towards anything in particular for you? Or away from something?” If I were really nice, I’d offer to pick up her gift for Prof Prick. But I’m not really nice. 

Anyway, sweets to the sweet and why should I smell up my truck hauling a half ton of prime steer manure? 

“I got a rock for Mother’s Day.”

“Sami found it and thought it was pretty. I thought mothers were sentimental about shit like that.”

“It was a _rock_ , Seifer.”

“Ok, fine, I’ll keep them away from the geological displays.” I didn’t whine about Father’s Day, which as I recalled had been a trip to the park, chili dogs from a cart, and Samantha puking all over my sneakers. Granted, new sneakers beat a rock, but there were mitigating circumstances, and the rock at least had had sparkles. Quartz or some shit. 

“Well, I’m down several tea cups in my collection.”

Ah, yes, Family Day. I did finally hear all the gory details from all sources. That had posed a problem, because on the one hand Morgan didn’t want to go and Jamie was being an ass, but on the other hand, my kids have to learn how to behave in other people’s homes. And that actions have consequences. 

What to do? I don’t hit them, and in all honesty I didn’t want to ground Morgan and mess up the various Yulish activities for the whole family. There were the old Garden standbys of running laps, pushups, and cleaning detail, but I didn’t want my kids to associate exercise or cleaning house with punishment. It’s enough of a pain in the ass all by itself, why make it worse? Morgan couldn’t do pushups with a broken arm anyway.

I settled on a lecture and forcing Morgan to the one thing she hated, which reinforced the concept of doing what you want has repercussions. I made her apologize. Both girls had to design and draw a nice “I’m sorry” card, and Morgan had to present them with a speech about how she was out of line and it wouldn’t happen again. The girls also chipped in some loot from their piggy banks to buy Jamie some flowers. I contributed the rest, to make sure the bouquet was fancy enough to impress. 

In Jamie’s defense, she treated it seriously and accepted both apologies. I think she still suspected in her heart of hearts I’d put the girls up to the original shenanigans, though. 

“Tea cups are a great idea, James. Sami still feels really bad about those.”

“Jamie. Samantha.” She corrected automatically. “Peter and I are considering going out to Grampa Moomba’s and cutting our own tree, do you think the girls would like to come along?”

I had to balance my certainty of hilarious frustration on Prof Prick’s part vs my concerns of having anyone I cared about near him while he was holding an ax. “The girls wanted a live-dead tree this year, so I have the artificial one you picked out still in the box if you want that.”

“I thought they’d enjoy the experience of getting a real tree.”

“Yeah, about that. Sami thinks it hurts them to be cut down, so you’ll have to make up a magic spell to put the tree to sleep first. If you decide to go pre-cut, don’t hit the stand by Shop ‘n’ Stuff. They know Sami there.”

Jamie gave me her best long suffering sigh. “Her name is Samantha. And why do you indulge her fantasies? You have to stop letting those children run wild while-”

“Oop, gotta go, Jay. Teacups, got it. I’ll leave the tree on the porch in case Petey wants to go cheap.” Which was almost guaranteed, Prof Prick was the kind of guy who helped himself to the copper gil-bits in the little tray at the checkout but never put any in. He’d shit when he found out how much a live tree cost. 

One problem solved, on to the next. 

It is possible to buy gifts for someone in their presence and still have it be a surprise. You just need a wingman for distractions. I volunteered Squall, because his true calling in life is to do what I want. The sooner he figures that out, the happier everyone will be. 

Squall was making great strides in that department and agreed to go. He mumbled something about never actually going Yule shopping in a mall before and other stuff I ignored because it took away from the triumph of the moment. Also I was afraid I’d spill the beans about what a royal, candy coated, pine scented pain in the ass it would be. 

We chose Sunday morning since neither of us were religious, Squall’s worship of Shiva and insane devotion to coffee aside. Or maybe that was devotion to Shiva and worship of coffee. Whatever. Hopefully a few folk would be at church and therefore the odds of getting a parking space closer than Balamb would be better. 

Naturally, organizing two little girls and getting them groomed, clothed, and in the car took some time. Then we had to go pick up Squall, because I wanted to drive. It’s nice to take the sedan out once in a while and blow the dust off it, and anyway, all four of us would not fit in the truck cab. Squall offered to take us in his SUV but I didn’t want him to have the option of ditching us.

We hit Pancake Barn, as I’ve learned it’s best to have a full stomach before running full tilt into massive displays of candy and gingerbread, and got to the Rocky Valley Mall about five minutes after normal services were over. It was painfully obvious a lot of those sinners had skipped out early. 

We followed the line of cars and pulled into the parking lot. Squall registered extreme shock by blinking and saying softly, “That’s a lot of cars.”

I veered off from the herd and circled around the back of the mall, where the less popular stores were. By less popular I meant farthest away from the toy stores, because everyone was here for the same reason. We’d have to hike down there, too, but we’d have to cover the whole mall anyway. The stores I wanted were at opposite ends. “Don’t they have a lot of cars in Esther City?”

“Logically, yes, based on population, but most of the shopping centers are downtown and everyone uses the public transport. You don’t see that many cars just parked.”

“Except on the road during rush hour,” I said with the glee of someone who lived and worked in a town with a 7 minute commute. 

“Are we going to play the go around game?” Sami asked. 

At Squall’s questioning look, Morgan explained, “We all guess how many times Daddy has to go around the lot to find a parking space. Winner gets to pick where we eat supper.”

“Eleventy,” Sami piped up. “Mrs Bo’s, yum!”

“Eleventy isn’t really a number, Lady Bug. Do you want regular eleven?”

She agreed. Morgan selected eight and McMoogles. 

“Sixteen,” Squall said authoritatively, “because I know you and if you have to go around more than fifteen you will say ‘to hell with it’. And… Clown Burgers.”

“In other words, you don’t think I’ll find a space at all.” Squall liked greasy fast food? Who knew?

“Not in this mess.”

“Just think, every parked car equals at least one person inside the mall, shopping.” I smirked at Squall’s shell shocked expression. “Ok, driver says…” I cut up a row and slipped into the most primo, perfect spot right next to the entrance. “One shot. Dinner is at the food court inside.”

Squall stared at me. “How did you do that?”

“Clean living.”


	21. Conspicuous Consumption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgan scoffed at that. “You can’t let him wander off by himself, Uncle Mr Leon! He buys stuff.”

Seifer had his daughters explain Mall Rules to me.

“You can’t wander off even if everyone wants to look at super boring stuff and the cool stuff is right over there.” Morgan said, taking Samantha’s hand. 

“You have to wait your turn to look at stuff,” Samantha added. 

“But you can hint it’s boring.”

“But you can’t _say_ it’s boring because you might hurt someone’s feelings.”

Morgan nodded. “Eye rolling and huffing is allowed. Like th-”

“Squall knows how to do that, trust me.” Seifer was herding us towards the large glass doors of the Mall. 

“Ok, and you can’t hint or complain until after 5 minutes of boring. Everyone gets five minutes to be boring.”

Samantha said, “That’s when the big hand moves from one number to another. Sometimes it’s fast and sometimes it takes forever.”

“Depends on how boring it is,” Morgan confirmed. 

“Oh, and don’t go anyplace without Daddy and especially don’t go anywhere with anyone except Daddy or maybe a Peacekeeper or Firefighter if bells are ringing and there’s smoke and stuff.”

“That _never_ happens,” Morgan said sadly. 

“For today I will also let you go with Squall, because I’m thinking he is going to take forever at the Food Court like you do, Lady Bug, and Boss and I get hungry waiting. So if you aren’t with me, you have to be with Uncle Mr Leon, got that, team?”

The girls chorused, “Yes, Daddy!” and we swept into the Mall.

Despite the complete absence of the weather phenomenon in the local area, the people in charge of decorating chose a snow and ice theme. There were snowflakes, some the size of manhole covers, made of crystal and plastic and glitter, suspended on worryingly fine wires overhead. There were faux snow drifts and icicles adorning the entrances to each shop. Shiva approved, and I would have too if the temperature had reflected the theme. I was glad Seifer had warned me to leave my jacket in the car. 

We traveled down the short entry hall, passing several athletic shoe stores, women’s fashions, hair salon, jewelry, and three closely set and actively competing cell phone shops and made it to the wide avenue that ran the length of the Mall. The theme continued; in the distance was a miniature castle made of “ice” and “snow” and in the other direction, what appeared to be a functioning indoor ice skating rink, complete with couples in tight spangled costumes doing fancy spins and other tricks. There were cascades of tiny twinkling white lights that were supposed to suggest snowfall but looked more like minor electrical overload. Either way, Samantha pronounced it “Pretty!” and I had to agree. 

Seifer suggested simply working our way clockwise around the Mall and turned to his left. First thing, across from Women’s Shoes and Handbags, was a Mall Booth covered in paper snowflakes, promising a “blizzard of savings”. We stopped to pick up the flyers and were attacked. 

Moving like there weren’t ten years and various circumstances separating us from the Garden days, Seifer and I forced the girls between us and stood back to back. Both of us reached for weaponry we’d left at home under lock and key. 

The frostlings and minions danced around us, fortunately not high enough level to throw their wicked ice attacks. I would be largely immune but Seifer took extra damage, being more fire based. On the other hand, Shiva would not be able to harm the Winter Horde and Seifer would be packing spells that could. I called up a _Wall_ spell, the better to cover the children while he dealt the damage. 

“Daddy!” Morgan said, wiggling free. “What are you _doing_?”

“It’s Mr Frosty,” Samantha supplied.

I, if you will forgive the pun, froze, trying to sort out realities. 

Behind me, Seifer muttered, “Didn’t we kill a bunch of these things in Trabia that time?”

“You did,” I said, on firmer ground. “I was useless. Shiva healed them and Quez just broke them into more frostlings. Quistis went down in the first slick attack and never recovered.” She’d made us both swear to never tell anyone else, too.

Impatiently, Morgan said, “Daddy. Mr Frosty, you know, like the song?” She and Samantha sang a bit of something I’d heard on the radio about a living snowman. The Winter Horde, which turned out to be people in costumes, danced around approvingly. 

“Hyne, you don’t think we took out some poor slobs on their way to a gig or something, do you?”

I thought about it. “No, there was never any mention of a lawsuit.”

“Oh, that’s reassuring, great moral indicator there.”

“Daddy. I want to seeeee.”

Seifer rallied first. “Yes, sorry, girls, Uncle Squall and I were afraid you’d get stepped on or kicked. They can’t see too well in those costumes, you know.” He moved away from me so Samantha could stand by her sister. 

The girls exchanged glances. 

“It’s ok if you are ascared of snowmen, Daddy,” Morgan said kindly. “We will protect you.”

Samantha patted Seifer on the arm. “There aren’t a lot of real ones around here, anyway.”

Seifer made a zooming motion with his hand. “There went the last of my street cred.”

I patted him on the other arm, mimicking Samantha. “You never had much.”

“Oh shut up, you are afraid of them, too.”

 

 

We made our way around the mall, passing stores that held no interest, such as “Women’s Shoe World” and collecting packages from others. There were snowmen, dancing or static, throughout the mall; whenever we approached one the girls would take Seifer and my hands and gently guide us away. 

This was a slight problem when we discovered the Ice Palace, a source of interest to both girls, was both the Yule King’s Grotto and also guarded by Frostlings. We all eyed it, and the long line to visit with the Yule King. 

Finally Morgan shrugged. “It’s not the real Yule King. He’s too damn busy this time of year to sit around.” 

“It’s so folk can have pictures,” Seifer explained. “Since you never really see the real guy, they have to pretend.”

“We are not dressed for pictures,” Samantha said firmly, tugging her father away. 

As if he weren’t delighted to avoid the Yule King hassle, Seifer mock protested, “I thought we all looked very nice!”

“For Yule pictures everyone has to wear Yulish clothes and it’s too hot in here.”

Shiva and I seconded that. Seifer took pity and bought us all “snow ice” which seemed to be mostly frozen sweetened milk with some vanilla, slurped through a cinnamon stick. 

We were able to skip several stores devoted to women’s casual clothing, maternity clothing, designer sunglasses, jewelry, and luggage. Samantha had to stop and admire the gowns displayed at the store devoted to women’s formal wear, however. She approved particularly of a black pleated gown edged in faux diamonds.

“Let’s wait on that,” Seifer said. “It will probably be out of fashion before you are tall enough to wear it.”

“It _sparkles_.”

Morgan got us moving again with, “Is this your five minutes? Because it’s pretty boring.”

There were a series of stores that were purely seasonal. Seifer and the girls vanished into the overcrowded Ornaments and Decorations Store, seeking a Yule themed china cup and saucer. I agreed to wait outside and hold the bags previous purchases as Seifer correctly deduced it was too claustrophobic for me. Unfortunately, that left me time to scan the adjacent stores. 

Gift giving was kept to a minimum at the Presidential Palace, because it could so easily get out of hand if we gave Laguna free reign. Presents tended to be amusing, practical, or edible. However, when I noticed the adjacent store was called “Ugly Sweaters”, I knew my father would never forgive me if I didn’t investigate.

The place was aptly named. I realized, as I was choosing between two crimes against tailoring, that Laguna would actually wear whichever one I bought. And we would have to look at it. 

I put back both hideous offerings and picked a more conservative red, green, and silver horror that bore the words “I had candy for breakfast!” 

Best warn everyone early.

On a whim I also purchased a tee shirt for Zell of the Yule King surfing, complete with mini chocobo hanging four.

Next was a place that sold local delicacies like coffee flavored fudge and apple cider honey caramels. That took care of the rest of the adults on my list, save Seifer and Sis. 

The Almasys found me and I got part of a lecture on the dangers of ‘wandering off’. The girls were derailed by our arrival at one of the anchor stores of the Mall, a giant three story toy store. Morgan assured me that we didn’t have to go to every floor because “The top one is for babies and the middle is all furniture and boring stuff.” The bottom floor was pure toys and a madhouse. 

Seifer squared his shoulders and addressed the troops. “Remember the five minute rule. Be polite. Stay together. Remember you can look for yourselves but we are buying stuff for your cousins Tane and Little Seif.”

We pushed our way in and past board games, electronic games, and baby dolls. Seifer gave me the Garden hand signals for “ _doing recon, maintain position_ ” and I replied by pointing down an aisle that promised “Plushy Animal Friends”. 

The shopping season was half over and some of the shelves could use restocking. Many things were misplaced, which offended Morgan and Samantha both. Morgan plucked a large, floppy chicabo out of a bin otherwise full of doggy “pillowpets” and instructed her little sister to put it with the others. Samantha obediently carried it down to the wide low shelves where the other oversized animals were stored. 

We were the only ones on the aisle at the moment, other than two elderly ladies completely absorbed in some sort of contest over acquiring bean bag animals. I moved between the girls but let them browse. 

Samantha crouched down and then largely disappeared into the lowest shelf. 

“Sami?”

She popped back out. “I found a baby.”

“One you want the Yule King to bring you?” Something made me head that way. 

“Ooh, can we keep her?”

Morgan trotted up, abandoning her examination of the stuffed cats. “What are you talking about?”

Samantha pointed. “There’s a baby.”

Morgan and I both joined Samantha on the floor. In the back of the shelf, snuggled behind a pink rabbit, was a very human toddler. 

“Is it ok?” Morgan asked. 

There was a babble of baby talk. Samantha translated, “She was tired so she took a nap.”

I tried to reach the child but she drew back. I got a gentle shove from Seifer’s eldest. “Even babies know not to go with a strange man, Uncle Mr Leon. Move, let me ‘n’ Lady Bug handle it.”

“Can you coax her out? Her parents must be frantic.” I stood and fished out my phone, texting Seifer to find security or at least a sales clerk. A glance up the row confirmed my suspicion that the bean bag ladies had moved on. _A female sales clerk_ , I added to the text. 

Samantha crawled into the shelf and thrust the protesting child out. Morgan, with the uncanny strength of small children, picked her up and settled her on one hip. “What’s your name?”

The child babbled. Morgan looked at Samantha for confirmation. 

“Annie,” Samantha said happily. “Hello Annie, I’m Sami and this is Boss and Uncle Mr Leon.”

“Is she all right? How long was she there?” As if the child would know, herself.

“She says she’s thirsty.”

“I think she wasn’t here long because she’s not wet,” Morgan patted Annie’s rear end. “And little kids are always wetting their pants.”

“She might be wearing a diaper.”

“No, those crinkle more.”

Seifer came around the corner, reluctant sales woman in tow. 

“Daddy! I found a baby, her name is Annie, can we keep her?”

The sales woman gasped. “We have been looking for her for hours, how did you find her? They were about to call in the Peace Keepers and do a whole mall shut down.” She pulled a walkie talkie and chirped to security, “Cancel code pink!” 

“More importantly,”Seifer muttered, “how did her folks lose her?”

“The older brother said they were playing hide and seek and couldn’t find her.” The saleswoman held out her arms and after a confirming nod from Seifer, Morgan reluctantly allowed her to take Annie. 

Seifer turned to his girls. “And that’s why we don’t play games in places of business.”

“She was sleeping in the floppy animals.” Samantha pointed. 

“Little kids sleep hard,” Morgan the expert added. “She probably didn’t hear anyone calling her.”

“Might want to make sure she didn’t pee or drool on any of the merchandise,” Seifer suggested. 

We followed Annie and the saleswoman, whose name was Ginger, to the manager’s office. On the way, I confided to Seifer, “I was afraid she’d been here overnight.”

“I was afraid no one had reported her missing and I was going to have another kid.” Because neither Seifer nor I would let the child go back to a family that didn’t care where she was.

But the ashen faced parents and subdued older siblings in the office told a different story. It was Yule, people get distracted, accidents happen. All things considered, it was for the best little Annie did hide and fall asleep rather than be carried off by Hyne knows who. 

Ginger explained Annie's miraculous rescue. Samantha and Morgan were hailed as heroes and given bright award ribbons by the PeaceKeepers. The store manager insisted they each pick out any plushy animal to take home for free for saving the child. Samantha picked the floppy pink bunny Annie had been sleeping with and then gave it to her; not to be outdone, Morgan gave her raccoon to Samantha. Annie’s mother then bought Morgan a fairly realistic miniature torama. 

Seifer was so proud of his girls he was nearly floating and we all headed to the food court in high spirits. 

I had never been to a food court before, but it immediately brought back memories of the Garden cafeteria. I sniffed. “Hot dogs?”

Seifer pointed to one of the shops. “SeeDDogs. And no, I haven’t tried them.”

“They put all kinds of stuff on them,” Samantha supplied. 

“Most of it is weird,” Morgan added. 

There were nine little restaurants lining the walls of the common dining area. In the center of the tables was a three sided kiosk selling soda, coffee, and sweets. These all functioned in the more traditionally Estharian manner of computer screens and auto dispensing. The other eateries were staffed by humans in various stages of boredom and shell shock. 

Seifer handed me two brightly colored trays and a handful of gil, which I unsuccessfully tried to return. “I know you and Sami will want to browse. Morgan and I will be over there, eating. Join us any time.” He headed towards Bud’s Spuds but Morgan discovered McMoogles had an outlet there and demanded pizza. 

Samantha beamed up at me. “There is the fun way and the not so fun way.”

“Can you tell me the difference?”

She grabbed the edge of my sweater, since my hands were full, and towed me towards the closest cafe. “You can look at all of them and get your whole supper from the one you like best, orrrrr…” Her eyes sparkled. “You can get one thing from a whole bunch of places.”

Which is how I ended up with barbecue fries from Chocobo Bob’s, a bowl of “Balamb style” seafood chowder in a bread bowl from Surfer Shack, and a classic Estherian sandwich of chicken and cucumbers with spicy cheese from Three Sisters Cooking.

Samantha bypassed Winton’s Wu Tai (“Not as good as Mrs Bo’s”) and chose a peculiar combination from SeeDDogs of roasted seaweed, onions, and grilled pineapple with a teriyaki sauce to go with her ramen from Oodles of Noodles. We also stopped at Galbadian Streets for corn on the cob that was slathered in a creamy cheese and sprinkled with spices and diced tomatoes. It was served on a stick, but they also provided a paper boat to catch the fallout. 

Seifer hit the kiosk and brought over coffee from Caffenation and gingerbread cake with lemon cream from Just Desserts; there was also The Pop Stand where the girls dawdled over various flavors of soda. Morgan eventually chose orange and Samantha went for bumbleberry cream. 

“Balamb chowder, eh? Does it taste like they threw deep fried flip flops into yesterday’s gravy?” Seifer had made his way to Bud’s Spuds after all and had a baked potato smothered in chili, cheese, and corn chips.

“No, it’s not realistic at all; it’s good.”

Morgan, halfway through a child sized plain cheese pizza, sighed happily. “I love this place, because I don’t have to eat anything weird.”

“You are so boring,” her sister pronounced. 

Hunching away from Samantha, Morgan said, “I don’t even want to look at your food.” She pet her new toy. “What to toramas eat?”

“People,” both Seifer and I said without thinking. We exchanged looks and Seifer added, “When they can’t get caribou and stuff. They are cats, they eat meat.”

“Cats drink milk, too.” Samantha said. 

“They do, but it’s not really good for them.” Miss Bloom had been quite clear on that. “Like humans drinking alcohol, some of them enjoy the taste, but it can make them sick.”

Seifer’s last attempts at Yule Shopping were interrupted, so he slipped away while the rest of us finished our lunch and attacked the gingerbread. I was hoping to keep the girls there at least long enough to get refills on the drinks, but a little boy at the next table regurgitated his entire lunch over his grandmother and the resulting unpleasantness caused us to abandon the food court and flee. 

“Where’s Daddy?” Samantha asked anxiously.

“He needed to do a few things on his own.”

Morgan scoffed at that. “You can’t let him wander off by himself, Uncle Mr Leon! He _buys_ stuff.”

“Weird stuff, like that bumbleberry crap mix,” Samantha confirmed.

“Wait, what?”

“Anyway, he’s ascared of snowmen, he’ll stab something.” Morgan looked around. “We need a Mall Security Person.”

Samantha was clouding up. “What if he falls asleep and gets losted like Annie but no one finds him?”

I could sense drama on the horizon. “No, no,” I said quickly. “Seifer has his phone, he’d just call us for help, like we can call him.”

“Call him now!”

I took out my phone and hesitated. “Before I do, I wanted to ask you girls, what did you want to get for your father?”

“Get for Daddy?” Clearly buying gifts for Seifer had never occurred. 

Samantha explained, “The Yule King brings the presents.”

“Yule gifts for children. But not birthday presents for adults. Yule is also your father’s birthday.”

Both girls looked astonished. “Daddy has a birthday?”

“Of course he does, it’s the same day as Yule.”

“We have to get Daddy a birthday present!”

“And a Yule present, and I know what he needs.” Morgan set off purposely, the rest of us right behind her. “A pet!”

“I don’t think he wants a pet.”

“Sure he does, everyone does, but he says he doesn’t have time to look after it but Lady Bug and I are big now so he will have time and anyway we can help.”

Seifer was going to kill me. “A tie is more traditional.”

“He does need ties, all the ones he has are awful.” Samantha nodded. “It’s because Uncle Tom gives them to him and Uncle Tom has no taste.”

“He needs a puppy.”

“No, Morgan, trust me on this, your father does not need a puppy. He is not a dog person. I think he’s allergic.”

“We’ll just look.”

I remembered the last time we ‘just looked’ we ended up taking home the makeover tree. I wasn’t sure which would be worse, ending up with a dog or some sort of pathetic makeover pet.

Fortunately, the store was crowded, largely by strange people buying tacky dog sweaters and yule themed cat toys. We slid around them and discovered the puppies for sale were purebreds, well out of our budget range, and also already sold and awaiting their new families. I thanked Hyne there were no kittens or bunnies on offer. There were hamsters, mice, guinea pigs, birds, reptiles, and tropical fish. I figured Seifer might forgive me for a goldfish and pointed the girls that way. 

The fish department was dark, cool and back lit to best display the bright colors of the various tank’s inhabitants. Samantha was captivated and even Morgan didn’t insist on the 5 minute rule. We made our way slowly down the aisle and I wondered if Seifer would ever speak to me again if the family ended up with an aquarium. 

Seifer texted, ‘ _Where the hell are you? Food Court is Puke City. Did Sami start that? Is she ok_?’

I replied, ‘ _Sami is fine. We were innocent bystanders. Current location: pet shop_ ’

‘ _You are a dead man._ ’

‘ _We are looking at puppies. They have purebred Trabian hounds. Children under five can ride them_.’

‘ _There won’t even be a body. I’ll feed what’s left after I’m done with you to the goddamn dog._ ’

I saw Seifer storm into the Pet Store in the convex mirrors and smiled to myself. He headed first to the puppies, didn’t see us, and then cautiously circled past the hamsters and budgies. He finally stepped up behind me and said, “Hyne, you suck as a wingman.”

“Oddly, Irvine said that, too.” While Seifer fought with himself not to ask, I added blandly, “How do you feel about guppies?”

His eyes narrowed. “They will take too long to eat a dead body.”

Several people gave us odd looks and moved away.

“Hi Daddy! We are getting you a birthday present!”

“It was supposed to be a surprise!” Morgan glared at her sister, who looked abashed. 

“I’m too old for birthdays,” Seifer said firmly. 

“Uncle Mr Leon said-”

“Uncle Mr Leon Squall the traitor is younger than I and thus still has birthdays. But his isn’t until next summer. We can get him a purebred Trabian Hound.” Something about Seifer’s tone suggested he considered that a fate worse than death and one I deserved. 

Exasperated, Samantha said “Does _everyone_ have a birthday?”

Seifer laughed. “Yes, Lady Bug, they do. But don’t worry about mine. I’m way too old to play with catnip mice.” He steered us towards the exit. “And I have a bed and I won’t fit on the wheel and I certainly don’t need a collar and leash.”

“Some opinions would differ,” I managed, trying not to envision Seifer in a collar and leash. 

“I’m not the one in the dog house.”

Morgan stopped abruptly and we piled up behind her. “Oh Daddy, look. A stick bug!”

“A what now?”

“It’s a bug that looks like a stick, Daddy. Mr Han’s class has one, they brought it to our class so we could see on Science Day.”

A clerk had a walking stick insect on his hand and obligingly let it crawl over onto Morgan’s cast. 

“Neato,” Samantha said. “How do they taste?”

“ _Bad_ ,” the clerk and I both said.

Seifer seemed to be trying to snatch his child away and crawl up my body at the same time. He asked, “Are they dangerous?”

“Oh, no,” the clerk said. “They don’t bite, sting, fly, or even smell bad. They will nibble certain waxy leaf house plants but they aren’t good escape artists so as long as you hang onto them or keep them in their habitats, you have no worries.”

“Yes, keeping them in the terrarium sounds like a plan.” Seifer could not take his eyes off the insect, which was making its way to Morgan’s hair. “Like _right now_.”

The clerk laughed and carefully plucked the walking stick off Morgan. He did a double take, spotting her hero award ribbon. “Hey, my brother works in Mall Security. Are you the one who found the missing child?”

“My sister did,” Morgan said, and Sami stepped up, proudly showing her ribbon, too. 

Seifer sagged with relief that the insect was gone and beamed at his daughters. 

“That’s awesome, hey you deserve something special. Would you like a stick bug?”

“Hyne no,” Seifer said, but the girl’s delighted shouts of “YES!” drowned him out. 

“Well, I’m the manager here and we just had a brood of babies hatch so let’s set you up.” He looked at Seifer and me, possibly thinking Seifer’s protests were over the cost - or about getting something for nothing. “Please, it’s gratis, these girls deserve it. I remember a kid went missing a few years ago, it didn’t end as well.”

“Thank you,” I said, since Seifer was having some sort of existential crisis.

“It’s a bug,” Seifer said, almost pleading. “That looks like a stick. It doesn’t do anything. We could get a real stick…”

Sadly, the girls had followed the store manager over to the glass cases. “Lookit the babies, they are so cute!”

“Hyne. I pay a man to come around and spray so I don’t have to see shit like that.”

I patted Seifer on the back. “They really are very low maintenance. You can leave them alone for up to a week. It’s a good first pet for children, it teaches responsibility and life cycles - stick insects only live about a year.”

Seifer cheered up some at that an almost sounded sincere when he thanked the manager and accepted the terrarium, guide book, and small container of insect, which Morgan was immediately elected to carry.

I listened to the girls quibbling over what to name their new pet and wondered if Seifer knew stick insects could reproduce parthenogenetically.

Oh well, he’d find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omake for Megpie71
> 
> They stood in a semi circle, arms laden with packages, bags, boxes and bug, and stared at the car. 
> 
> And the chocobos perched all over it. 
> 
> “Well, that explains why the space was open,” Squall said mildly. None of them had noticed the yellow lines or the ceramic heater indicating Chocobo parking. 
> 
> “My paint job,” Seifer said faintly. 
> 
> Morgan wrinkled her nose. “First stop, car wash.”


	22. The Dreaded Yule Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...I had to drink Pink Squirrels and Strawberry Mimosas to maintain a festive demeanor, and I had to drink a lot of them. I finally got too drunk to drive and Letticia Almond took me home and spent the night on my couch, reading my mail and eating all my Yule candy.”

Despite Yule being the time of peace, love, fellowship and overeating, my life still had its ups and downs. For example, I had wasted a lovely late autumn evening passionately explaining to the Town Council that we would all need boats or at least snorkels by February if they didn’t do something.

What they did was foolishly let the Mayor take the floor.

The Mayor didn’t go so far as to pat me on the head - he knows better than to get within strangling distance - but he did manage to imply that I was a little kid afraid of monsters under the bed and that the Town Council had much more important things to worry about. Like making sure they all kept their cush jobs by not wasting money or alarming the constituents over little things like most of downtown potentially being under water. It was Yule! They should focus on the Tree Ceremony, which was going a tiny bit (thousands of gil) over budget but that could be solved by immediate vote.

I left before the shouting started, mainly because I have my dignity to maintain and because I know from experience you couldn’t pound a rational thought into the Mayor’s head with a sledgehammer. Hyne knows I’d love to try.

I bitched to Lani and got a small measure of sympathy along with the grim reminder that the Mayor’s Obligatory Annual Bore Folk to Death Event was coming up and it was my turn to go. This is supposed to be an End of the Year Appreciation for the Good People Who Help to Make Our Town Great. To give you an idea of the reality of it all, they actually put it in my contract that someone from my company had to attend every year. The goddamn thing is _mandatory._

Being the sort of leader who would not ask my crew to do things I wasn’t willing to do, I sacrificed myself. Biannually. I can only take so much. Lani went every other year. She’s the only other person in my construction business tough enough.

“Didn’t I go last year? It seems like it was just last year.” I swear I did not bleat and whine although Lani’s version of the conversation goes differently.

“You did not. The theme was Precious in Pink and I not only wore high heels and a girdle, but also had to endure eating badly prepared salmon mousse and stale shrimp crackers while pretending I thought his pugs dressed in tutus were adorable. No, I’m mis-remembering. Those were the children. The pugs were in little satin suits with bow ties. They _were_ adorable.”

“You _like_ dogs. And you like dressing up.” I thought a girdle had something to do with strapping your sword on, which was confusing because I was pretty sure Lani preferred polearms. And that the Mayor had a strict no weapons rule at his parties. Otherwise, they’d be a lot more fun.

“I endured two and a half hours surrounded by pink and it wasn’t even a baby shower. There were no tiny shoes to coo over or hand knitted layette sets to critique. I had to drink Pink Squirrels and Strawberry Mimosas to maintain a festive demeanor, and I had to drink a lot of them. I finally got too drunk to drive and Letticia Almond took me home and spent the night on my couch, reading my mail and eating all my Yule candy.”

“Hyne, Lani, you were that bad off? You should have called me.”

“I will never let you drive my car, Seifer. You can’t get it out of third gear.” In my defense, her car could get a speeding ticket while parked. And deserve it. Lani continued, “I was barely over the limit, but Lettie didn’t want to go back to the party.”

I mulled that over. “Wasn’t it at her house?”

“She has the same opinion of her son in law as you and I.”

So I had that hanging over my head, and now there was an abomination named Stuart living in my home. In the same room as my beloved offspring, because they insisted. Thank Hyne I was able to blackmail Squall to come over periodically and do whatever the hell it is you did to stickbugs so we didn’t have to hold a funeral by the trash can.

Not that I had any objection to doing Stu up proud once he went. Sooner the better.

Morgan was delighted with Stu and wanted to take him on walks or some hideous thing. I managed to convince her that the cold wet weather was bad for stick bugs and that Stuart needed to stay in his house at least until the rainy season was over. Possibly forever. Thank Hyne Raijin backed me up, at least about keeping Stuart in the terrarium. He explained that stickbugs were really very fragile and that the girls could accidentally pull off a leg or other important bit. That horrified all three of us to the point that Stu would be safe in his little habitat for the duration.

Then Rai lost all the points he made by laughing at me.

Sami made a Yule card for her mother featuring Stuart. She used a real stick glued to the construction paper, and drew on the legs and head. Sami gave the creature a big smile and a jaunty hat. It didn’t help.

“Seifer. Is the stick a continuing theme with the rock for Mother’s Day?”

Dammit. I wish I’d thought of that. We could have given Jamie Stu for Yule. “It’s a stickbug, Sami is very into them at the moment.”

“You didn’t let her eat one, did you?”

Because it’s my fault the kid samples things. “I’m not the one who got her into eating weird shit.”

“Seifer, to you and Morgan, peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat is weird and exotic.”

“It makes the jelly taste funny. I know you didn’t call to thank the girls for the cards, so what gives?”

Jamie sighed. “You are always a pleasure to talk to. I can’t make Samantha’s pageant, I have an appointment with my obstetrician in Green Valley. Will you take pictures for me?”

“My pleasure,” I said sincerely. Preschool pageants are a hoot, and not having to make nice with Jamie and His Prickness was icing on the cake.

“You will explain to the staff why I couldn’t attend?” Since Jamie used to work there, her former coworker’s opinions were her first priority.

I held onto my happy mood by force of will. “Sure will. Brace yourself for masses of pictures and possibly streaming vid.”

“I don’t expect much. They wouldn’t let me help with the costumes. Juniper Atti said the children wanted to make their own. I imagine it will be a mess.”

“Just think, a few years and you can do proper costumes for big girl pageants.”

“I sincerely doubt they let dumpy little nearsighted girls play the leads in anything worth doing a costume for.”

Ping! My goodwill-o-meter registered empty. “Gotta go, Jay, the stickbug is throwing up on your gift.”

It was a good damn thing it was Squall who called me next. I answered with, “Quick, give me 3 good reasons not to lob a _Firaga_ at my ex.”

“You don’t have any stocked and there isn’t a draw point near here. Your GF does light, not fire and would be too noticeable anyway. Also, if you are both at home, she is out of range.”

I had to laugh. “Not that it’s morally reprehensible?”

“You only asked for three. I prioritized.”

“Ok, you win. But what did I tell you about ogling a guy’s spells?”

“You’ve shown your ass around me enough times. I should get to look at what I want, now.” Squall always cheers me up.

“Now that you’ve admired my ass, what else can I do for you?”

“Is that what it was? Whatever. I have been conscripted to call parents and remind them the Yule Pageant is Friday at 6 pm.”

“Sami and I will be there with bells on. In her case, literally. Morgan won’t tell us what her class is doing, do you know?”

“I have been sworn to secrecy.”

 

 

 

Sami’s Yule pageant was first, because the preschool wanted to close and have some peace and quiet for the holiday. That made things more hectic for parents who depended on the school to babysit while they were at work. Fortunately, I owned my own business and could bring my kid with. She even had her own little pink hard hat.

I pretended not to notice the sign in the breakroom that said “Warning: X days until Hurricane Samantha hits”. There was a little tear off pad with numbers counting down the days. Underneath the last sheet was an alarmed looking emoji. Lani, well used to this procedure, had already stocked highlighters in every color and extra binder clips.

Phone and camera both fully charged, I went forth in the pouring rain to do my parental duty. There was no preamble, since the children couldn’t wait to do their routines. In fact, Sami had shown us her bit about twenty times already.

Doting caregivers of all ages were instructed to find a seat. This year the school had done away with those tiny chairs, thank Hyne, but replaced them with yoga balls. Some parents were giving them a try. I decided to sit on the floor, there wasn’t much height difference. The stage was simply one end of the classroom, slightly hidden by a lowered projection screen. There was significant shuffling and whispering, then spritely Yule music started and the screen raised, revealing the current class of toddlers to kindergartners. The costumes were large pieces of green paper, cut more or less into tree like shapes, suspended like sandwich boards by colored yarn. You could tell each child had been in charge of decorating his or her tree. Even if it hadn’t been attached to Sami I would have known which was hers. The massive amounts of silver glitter representing tinsel gave it away.

The teacher read a little story about a lonely tree wanting to do well at being a tree, which seemed like a sure thing to me, but whatever. The children awkwardly mimed the tree doing things like studying hard, stretching up, and getting a good night’s sleep and lo! On Yule morning, it was chosen to greet the sun, presumably because all its fellows had been cut down to hide toys in someone’s front parlor.

Then the teachers handed out strips of sleigh bells and we all sang while the kids flailed and bumped around in what I’m pretty sure was supposed to be a line dance. The little boy next to Sami had stretched too much as a growing tree and pulled his yarn out, so he was trying to dance, jingle, and hold his costume on at the same time. Sami finally grabbed his hand and dragged him back into step before taking his bells and jingling for him.

I nearly died from cute overload.

Afterwards we ate cookies in festive shapes and drank red flavored sugar water out of tiny paper cups. There were small paper hats full of Yule candy to take home, which I managed to get control of before Sami made herself thoroughly sick.

Sami skipped and splashed beside me as we headed to the car. “I saw you help Jayden, which was nice of you. You will be a great big sister when the time comes.”

“Boss has been teaching me how.”

Of course she was. “Your mom wanted me to tell you she was very sorry she couldn’t come, but she had a doctor’s appointment.”

“Oh, I know. Boys are more important than girls.”

I stopped dead. Sami got ahead of me and then circled back. I guess some of my anger showed because she looked up at me, uncertainly. “Sam … Samantha. Your new little brother isn’t more important than you. It’s just that doctors have so many people to look after they can’t just have appointments any time they want. Your mom had to take her turn when it came, even though it meant she couldn't be with us.”

Actually I knew good and goddamn well Jamie had deliberately scheduled the appointment so she could snub the pageant since she didn’t get to organize it.

Sami patted my hand. “It’s ok, Daddy. If they came you’d just growl at Professor Pete.”

“Do I do that?”

“Yes, Daddy. Like a bad dog.”

Well, I’d been told. I made a sad face at her and she let me have some candy. Then we went back downtown to terrorize the office.

 

 

 

I sent the vid to Jamie and Fuu. Fuu countered with a hilarious clip from a scientific short Rai was doing about sand fleas or some weird ass thing. He was out in the dunes, in a suit, looking professional and very uncomfortable and out of place, speaking clearly and without too many confusing scientific terms about why tiny little blood sucking bastards were a necessary part of the ecology even though everyone hated them. Meanwhile, Tane and Little Seif were mugging in the back with silly faces, cartwheels, and pantomimes.

We reviewed both videos after dinner. Morgan praised Samantha’s dancing skills, (it became more fulsome once Sami shared the hat candy) but the consensus was that the boys were funnier. Samantha took it in stride; as she pointed out, her group wasn’t trying to be funny.

I looked about my comfortable, decorated house, and was at peace with the world. Until, during a commercial break in the Televised Yule Special du Jour, my own little micro manager said, “Daddy, don’t forget to call Portia to babysit so you can go to that fancy party.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Aunt Lani said that, which is why she said not to let you forget to get a babysitter.”

“She also said she’d quit before she’d go two years in a row,” Samantha added.

I grabbed for my phone, because I lived in fear of Lani retiring again and she knew it. “Can I trust you to be good, not fleece the babysitter at Old Maid, and go to bed on time? It’s a school night.”

“Not for me.”

“Portia just eats her raisins, she never remembers how to raise or call.” Morgan shook her head. I never should have let the girls sit in with Lani and crew when they played rainy day poker.

“Cordelia is terrible at Old Maid, Daddy. And Go Fish.” Sami said sadly. “She can’t even win at Candy Land.” If the kid only knew how hard it was to cheat to lose at Candyland.

“Be nice to them anyway, it’s Yule and I’m sure they have parties of their own to go to.” I dug out the invitation to confirm the times and called my babysitters. Cordelia was willing to come over and prevent mayhem.

Morgan and Samantha examined the gilt edged invitation. “This says ‘and guest’,” Morgan read, proud of her ability to sound out the word. “You should take Uncle Mr Leon.”

“What?”

Sami nodded. “Doing stuff is more fun if you have a friend with you.”

“Squall isn’t going to want to go to some fancy schmancy party where he doesn’t know anyone.”

“He’ll know _you_.”

Morgan added, “Besides, you hate everyone there so it’s better Uncle Mr Leon doesn’t know anyone else or he’d hate them too.”

“Not everyone. I like the Mayor’s wife ok, and his mother in law is a good friend of Aunt Lani’s. And some of the folk in Records are fun.”

I had planned on going stag. Morgan had definite, and probably correct, views about my dating women and the results thereof. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of taking Squall as my plus one. The Mayor struck me as the sort of stuffed shirt wouldn’t approve, and Squall and I could have fun amping him up. Also, since there was no reason for the Mayor and Squall to cross paths again, I could probably talk Squall into faking an appendicitis attack and getting us out of there early with few repercussions.

“I guess I could call him.”

Morgan said in a tone that sounded very familiar, “Good Plan. You won’t know until you try.”

 

 

 

 

When I picked up the phone, Seifer said, “Do you have a formal suit?”

“Why?” I had several, of course. I wondered if he’d seen a picture from Esther and was putting things together mentally.

“Or even a nice one, I guess, no one would expect a teacher to have full evening drag,” he mused. “But not your formal SeeD uniform, that will raise questions for sure.”

Overlooking the fact that I was no longer SeeD and had no reason to possess a uniform of any formality, I pointed out, “Seifer, that uniform wouldn’t even _fit_.”

“I noticed.”

I tried not to be flattered. I was pushing thirty, after all, and certainly had more muscle mass than I did at 17, which was the last time Seifer saw me in a uniform.

Seifer then guaranteed I wasn’t flattered by adding, “Probably all that hair you’ve grown.”

I asked wearily, “Why would I need a formal suit?”

“There’s this thing with the Mayor, it’s very raised pinkie. Like white tie, butt skirt, and extra shiny boots formal. Where women wear their hair high and their necklines low and everyone pretends to like bait served on tiny crackers and tepid champagne.”

“Are you asking me out to a Yule party? Like a date?” Hyne, the advantage of living here and not Esthar was the dearth of formal balls.

“Do I have to buy you a corsage?”

“If I’m going to put my hair up and show my décolletage, it’s the least you could do.”

“Hyne.” Seifer paused. “I would give an internal organ to see that.”

“Yours or another person’s?”

“That would depend on the décolletage. Who said it would be a person’s anyway? People never think of chicken livers when I use that phrase. Ok, I’ll get you a corsage. What _aren’t_ you allergic to?”

“Lilies.”

“I hope you mean water lilies because I can’t imagine much else is thriving in this weather. Bring your epipen in case I have to settle.”

“Seifer. I do have a suit, and I’m not showing my chest so you can forget the flowers.” Thank Hyne my father’s influence had changed formal wear from robes with pizza pan collars to more typically Galbadian fare. Otherwise I _would_ borrow a dress from Sis on the assumption it would look less ridiculous. And be more comfortable.

“Bring the epipen anyway, for all I know the theme this year is Chocobos. Fair warning, this thing is a huge pain in the ass. I have to go if I want to keep working for the city.”

“Should I be flattered or resigned that you wanted to share the pain with me?”

“Frankly, I need you there to stop me when I drink too much and decide to kill the Mayor for the good of humanity.”

Hmm. “When, not if.”

“Once you meet him, you’ll understand.”

“I didn’t realize you liked champagne that much. Or were that much of a lightweight.”

“I’m not a lightweight! I don’t drink that pap. There’s an open bar, no one would come if there wasn’t hard liquor to be had. You in?”

Of course I was. I wanted to meet the man Seifer currently hated the most. “To clarify, you want me to give up what little free time I have to wear uncomfortable clothes and accompany you to an event no one wants to attend in order to prevent drunken bloodshed.”

“Or assist with, I’m good either way.”

“I do know some mercenaries. ‘Will kill for gil’.”

Seifer laughed. “Fuu has that tee shirt!”

 

 

 

I decided not to have Henri express mail me one of my more formal suits and instead went with what passed for standard business attire at the Palace. It seemed dressy enough for a mere substitute teacher. It was also likely Henri would insist on accompanying the suit to ensure I was properly starched, pleated, and devoid of cat hair.

At the Palace, I cultivated a reputation for being shy and photophobic. I wore large dark glasses as much as possible, kept my hair loose and brushed forward to hide most of my face, and wore nondescript suits whenever possible. The scar, which had faded to almost nothing, was typically hidden by a light touch of makeup. Here, I felt I could be more adventurous and memorable. In honor of the season I wore what Sis called my Shiva tie - an icy blue satin tie with subtle snowflakes. I pulled my hair back into a low ponytail, tied with a black ribbon. Then, because it was a date and I suspected not everyone would approve, I added mascara, light eyeshadow, and a touch of lip color.

Never hide from a fight.

It was agreed that I would drive. That would allow me to pick Seifer up at his home and give him time to settle last minute details with the babysitter. An unusually attractive, 20 something babysitter.

“That’s what I said, too, when I first met her,” Morgan said, proving she’d inherited her father’s ability to determine my thoughts even when I was silent and keeping my expression carefully blank.

“That’s Cordelia. Usually we have her little sister Portia,” Samantha confided. She grabbed my hand and tugged me into the den where the babysitter was setting up a vid. “But it’s Yule and Cordelia has nothing to do until her fiancé comes back from bootcamp.”

“They both make the special cocoa, that’s all I care about,” Morgan said. “Cordelia can’t play games for beans, though. Not even when we cheat to let her win.”

Cordelia winked at me. I shook hands, impressed.

Seifer swanned out, striking in formal wear, carrying Morgan’s camera. “Someone take my picture because I’m not dressing up this fancy again until one of you gets married.”

“Next summer, then, Mr Almasy?”

“Corie, have a beach wedding: flip flops, sarongs. Your friends and family will thank you.” Seifer handed her the camera and did a double take at me. “Get Squall in the pic, who knew he cleaned up so nice?” He made hand gestures to his daughters and they ran to the kitchen to return with two chilled plastic boxes.

“Corsage!” Samantha said, flushed with pride over learning a new word.

I took it gravely, relieved to see a conservative Yule themed boutonniere made from a fir twig, some tiny snowflake shaped flowers, and a silver ribbon. “No lilies?”

“Only in the wrist style.” Seifer bent down so Morgan could pin his boutonniere on. He winced when she stabbed him with the pin but made no comment. His had tiny fake holly berries with the twig, and a gold ribbon.

We posed so Cordelia could take pictures while Morgan and Samantha fussed over us. The vid hadn’t started - no doubt they were waiting for us to leave to watch it. Instead, the television played the local and national news. My attention was caught by a clip about the Presidential Ball. If I’d been at the Palace, I would have had to go, and I had been smug about missing it this year. And yet, I was dressed in formal wear, planning to attend the rural equivalent. At least Seifer would not be hissing in my ear like Kiros and Sis did, “Be nice to this one, we need his/her/their support for the…” I doubted I’d have to dance with shy and bored debutantes, either.

The news anchor droned on about the Ball, the history of it, the glittering assemblage, etc. Laguna appeared at the top of the stairs, all impish smiles. He was wearing his hair pulled back in a low ponytail, exactly as I was. I almost face palmed. We are not identical, but there is a marked family resemblance.

I glanced at Seifer. He was giving last minute instructions to his troops. “Don’t be mean to Cordelia. And don’t keep Stuart up late by being silly and loud once she puts you to bed.”

“We won’t, Daddy!”

A beautiful blonde joined Laguna and took his arm. I knew Ward and Sis set my father up with various photogenic dates for fancy occasions. Sometimes it was a celebrity or an important visitor from Galbadia or one of the Freestates. Often it was someone that Laguna wanted to have a few minutes of fame - decorated veteran, an award winning teacher, or a person who rescued a drowning puppy.

“Ready to go?” I asked, hoping to block Seifer’s view of the broadcast. Unfortunately, Laguna must have liked his date for the evening more than usual, or been intimidated by her looks, because out of the corner of my eye I caught the slight hitch in his movement.

_Leg cramp_ , I thought, my attention back on the television. The voice over identified Laguna’s date as someone Morgan from Galbadia. That name caught Morgan’s and Seifer’s attention, and Samantha and Cordelia followed their gazes. We were all staring at the screen when the President stumbled.

“Laguna,” I whispered. The stairs were marble, with removable and often poorly attached thin red carpet. Marble flooring over stone in the foyer. He could fall the whole flight before someone could get there, and possibly take the blonde with him. I wanted to watch, see how bad it would be, and also willed Kiros to cut the camera feed and prevent the inevitable media frenzy.

But the tiny blonde at his side pivoted slightly and with amazing strength steadied Laguna. She smiled and twitched the full drapes of her gown forward, making it look like Laguna had nearly stepped on her dress. He leaned forward and whispered something, thanks or an apology most likely, but the media chose to freeze the camera there on what looked like a very intimate conversation.

“Is the President serious at last?” the news anchor asked the viewers. “Who is this mysterious Ms Morgan?”

“Hyne on the halfshell,” Seifer said, still staring at the set. “My ex is dating the president.”

 

 

 

I pulled into the long drive leading up to the Mayor’s mansion. Someone had laboriously twined tiny white lights around every twig and branch of the numerous trees lining the way. The house was likewise covered, with no architectural feature left unlit. I wondered how the occupants stood the glare.

“Couple things before we go in,” Seifer said. He’d been quiet during the trip, possibly musing on the repercussions of Morgan’s mother dating my father.

Or perhaps that was just me. “Mission briefing?”

“Yeah. First, the makeup looks good, don’t let anyone tell you different.”

I’d wondered if he’d noticed. I should have known better. I scoffed, correctly conveying my concern over other people’s opinions. Other than Seifer’s.

Seifer nodded to the young person in a bright gold jacket who was assisting an elderly lady in traditional Estharian robes to alight. “Our esteemed Mayor is enough of a snob to want valet parking at his gig but too cheap to pay the kids who are standing out in the rain.”

“Over tip, got it.”

“Also, I can’t cite the source but good authority tells me it is gauche to kill a man in his own home at Yule in front of his wife and pugs.”

“Restrain instinctive behavior, check.”

Seifer grinned. “And if I flash you the ‘evacuate now’ sign, fake an appendicitis attack or something because that means I’ve decided to go for him anyway.”

“I’ll throw _Sleep_ , tell everyone you’ve been working too hard, and cart you home.”

“Tell ‘em I’m drunk, which I plan to be shortly.”

 

 

Whatever the theme was, inside the mansion the decorations were largely wooden, straw, or made of greenery. Instead of the colored twinkling lights favored by the Almasy’s, the mayor had candles. Fortunately for the safety of everyone involved, most of them were fake. Unfortunately, enough were real that standing too long near some displays could cause one to break out in a sweat. The roaring flames in the fireplace didn’t help.

Seifer glanced at me. “You hate it already and you haven’t even met our host.”

“Perhaps after we find the bar.” The good part about being designated driver was I could insist on a caffeinated soda. With extra ice.

A waitress dressed as a peasant maid from a few centuries ago offered us our choice of champagne or punch. We both took the champagne, hoping it would be colder. It wasn’t.

We made our way through the throng. Many people were dressed in costumes ranging from ancient Cetran to traditional Estharian. There were men in ridiculous frilled collars and ladies with skirts and hair that extended an alarming distance from their bodies. “I’m thinking the theme this year is… Old Fashioned Holidays? Yules of Yore? Yesteryear?” Seifer sipped his drink and made a face.

“Yule Kompression,” I offered. He clinked his glass to mine in approval before ditching it on a nearby table.

“Seifer! You made it and didn’t have to row a boat, eh?”

“Not yet, Win.”

“We’re safe enough here, right? I just spent a fortune having the back landscaped.”

“You are on high ground but downtown-”

“Enough shop talk! Who’s your date? What happened to the gal with the amazing tits?”

Gritting his teeth, Seifer said, “You mean my ex-wife? ...This is Squall Leon. Squall, our mayor, Winchell Wheeler.”

Wheeler grabbed my hand and pumped it vigorously. He was a very classically handsome man, so carefully coiffed as to appear made of plastic. In fact, he strongly reminded me of the male consort to a popular fashion doll some of my students played with. Wheeler was dressed Estharian style with voluminous robes and a starched and pleated vibrantly green collar that spread past his shoulders. Some people tipped the collar to frame their faces but Wheeler kept his flat, possibly to preserve his hair style. The effect was rather like a head being served on a plate of greens.

“Batting for the other team? Very progressive. But Seifer, those tits. They were amazing. Seriously, great loss.”

I reclaimed my hand so I could hold Seifer back if he decided to defend Samantha’s mother’s honor.

“I’m sure they will be flattered to be remembered,” he said dryly. “Where’s Sharmila? I’d like to introduce Squall to the brains in the family.”

“Making the rounds, as I must. But here’s Mother. Catch you later!” Wheeler trotted off to accost another arrival.

An elegant lady in traditional Cetran garb rolled her eyes and extended her hand. “Letticia Almond, nice to meet you, so glad you could join us.” We shook and exchanged pleasantries. She twinkled at Seifer. “And by the way, _I_ am the brains of the family.”

“I’ll mention that to Sharmila when I find her.”

“You do and I’ll tell Lani Thunder who dinged her passenger side bumper.”

Seifer blinked. “You know?”

She laughed. “Of course I do.”

“ _I_ never found out,” Seifer muttered, sulking. "But I sure heard about it."

Mrs Almond linked her arm in mine and towed me away to be introduced to a tiny, wizened old man who “has been our city clerk so long we simply cannot function without him and won’t let him retire.”

Seifer indicated he was heading to the bar, leaving me to my fate.

“Eh, I can rest when I’m dead. ‘Squall’, eh? That’s an old fashioned name, from south Galbadia. Didn’t hear it much until the Prince turned up. Now half the boys’ birth certs I fill out are for Squalls.”

I murmured something about my parents being ahead of the trend.

He was a garrulous old man, the kind that made my eyes glaze over as a teen. I’m older now and have learned to deal. It helped that he was well informed about local history and landmarks, and we spent several minutes chatting. I was then introduced to other members of the Hall of Records, and regaled with amusing stories of nervous newlyweds and new parents fumbling their paperwork.

“Nearly named the poor child after his health insurance!”

Waitresses circulated and I managed to score a soda that was chilled if not over ice. In keeping with the old fashioned theme, most of the hors d’oeuvre were simple cheese and crackers, sugared nuts, and similar, and therefore edible. I reflected I’d attended far more tedious affairs and wondered at Seifer’s over the top dislike of event.

Seifer had been extremely social at Garden, constantly surrounded by friends, admirers, and posse. Maturity might have dulled his need for adoration and attention. Or perhaps he resented time spent away from his children. It occurred to me that it would not be beyond Seifer to have simply exaggerated the situation for effect, and to ensure my compliance. That would mean it was important to him I accompany him…

My musing was interrupted by an alternate reason Seifer bitched and moaned about the party. The mayor himself.

“So, didn’t get to talk before. Queer, huh? Never thought it of Almasy, seems like a real man. Bit of a nervous nellie, now that I think about it. Well, everyone gets a vote so not for me to judge. What do you do?”

“Other than promote the rights of minority and marginalized constituents? I’m a teacher.”

“They let you around kids? Oh wait, you coach little girls’ sports, yeah, can’t do any harm there, right?”

I was seeing why Seifer wanted to punch the man.

“Kind of a waste of time, though, isn’t it? I mean, no one gives a shit about female sports. I told my nieces, ‘don’t waste your time getting a track scholarship, it won’t go anywhere and you don’t need a degree to get married.’”

Remembering Seifer’s admonition about killing a man while a guest in his home, I abandoned several responses in favor of, “Women vote, too.”

He smirked and preened. “Never have any trouble with the ladies, trust me.” Wheeler patted his crotch.

“Winchell,” a tall, graceful woman dressed in similar formal Estharian robes said, “I’m concerned about the syllabub, will you check it for me?”

“Of course, my dear.” He departed, unfortunately uninjured.

“He’s a perfect ass but he really does get the votes. I’m Sharmila Wheeler, how nice to meet you at last. My sister is concerned that rugby might be too rough and tumble for her daughters, will you be offering other sports next semester?”

We discussed the suitability and drawbacks of certain sports for small children, given their physical abilities and attention spans. I reiterated that the whole point of organized athletics at early ages was to promote a love of activity and the concepts of teamwork and good sportsmanship. It was clear to me that whether the lion's share of brains in the family fell to Sharmila or Letticia, Winchell had been short changed by comparison.

I lost track of Seifer and eventually excused myself to go find him. He’d been playing a sort of drinking game where he downed whatever was at hand every time Wheeler approached, and then beelined to the bar for a refill. The crush was such that, unless Seifer was ordering doubles, he couldn’t actually be as drunk as he’d threatened to be.

Which is why I was surprised to find Seifer in a quiet corner, slumped in a chair, his head in his hands.

“Seifer?”

Wheeler appeared before Seifer could answer. “Wasted already, Seifer? You need a cab?”

Seifer took a deep breath and stood up. “No, Winnie old pal, I’m peachy keen. However, it appears my house is on fire, so give our best to your ladies.”

I ran to get our coats, missing the last of the conversation. Once safely in the SUV I cast _Esuna_ on us both, just to be safe.

Seifer wordlessly took out his phone, pressed the button to replay a voice message, and passed it over.

It was Morgan.

“Daddy so I forgot I have to take cookies tomorrow but Cordelia said we’d make cookies but we didn’t have all the stuff so she called her mom and her little sister Perdita brought over those raw roll things but she brought the wrong kind because we sampled them and Cordelia puffed up and couldn’t breathe and we called her mom again and she had to take Cordelia to the hospital but we can’t find Portia so they left Perdita to look after us because she’s 14 and said she could but she put the cookies in the oven and pushed the wrong button and now the oven is red hot and the cookies are dust and there’s smoke coming out and it set off the alarm and I don’t know how to turn it off and the alarm people called but I didn’t know the code word so they are sending the fire trucks but you said to never ever call the fire trucks unless something was really on fire but it kind of is but it kinda isn’t and I don’t know what to do and Perdita is just sitting there crying she’s no help at _all_.”

She finally took a deep breath. “I think you better come home, sorry.” Tearfully, Morgan added, “I didn’t mean to!”

“Is this one of those parenting moments you hear about where you don’t know if you should laugh or cry?” I asked.

“I’m leaning towards laughing,” Seifer said. “She got us out of that Hynebedamned party, at least.”


	23. Getting Along Like House Afire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also, there was a note. It simply said, “Dumbass”. I grinned. Squall and I were still good, then.

When Squall handed my phone back, I called and cancelled the firefighters, apologizing for a smoky oven and panicked babysitter. 

I knew the girls were ok; I had an app on my phone that tied to the alarm system. It detected minor smoke in the kitchen and unusual but not critical heat signature, roughly where the oven was located. I showed it to Squall, because he was doing that totally blank thing he does when he’s fretting.

“The first roil of smoke triggered the alarm, it’s pretty sensitive because kids set stuff on the burners if you don’t watch them all the time. Then you have about 90 seconds to cancel the alarm manually or it alerts the Service. Then they call the house to see if anyone’s home and get the code word to cancel. Which is ‘Leviathan’, by the way.” 

Squall nodded absently, concentrating on getting us through the wet, dark streets as quickly as possible. I trusted my app and my alarms; I was an engineer, I knew how accurate they were. But I knew Squall would not rest easy until he saw the girls with his own eyes. And, ok, I’d be a lot happier myself.

“So they tried the house, Morgan was in a flap and couldn’t remember the code and I don’t think whatshername ever knew it - she never sat for us before.”

“Wouldn’t it then call your mobile?”

I checked. “Yeah, they did, but I had everything on mute - party manners, you know. I felt it vibrate with a voice mail and it was Morgan.” Thinking on it, I added, “The Service doesn’t leave voice mail, if they can’t get me, they’d go to the alternate number, which is-”

My phone trilled the opening notes of ‘Old MacDonald Had a Farm’.

“... Jamie.” 

“Seifer, the house is on fire, where are you? Where are the girls?” Jamie’s voice was shrill with stress and carried well. Squall was trying not to listen but there was no way to avoid it. 

“No, Jim, it’s ok, just burnt cookies.”

“Are you there? You aren’t! My baby girl… I’m calling Emergency.”

“No, Jame, I just…” I sighed. “She hung up.” I dialed dispatch again. “This is Seifer Almasy, I’m calling to cancel - yes, but she isn’t there - true, but I’ll be there in a few minutes and - I understand but I hate to have the truck come out when I know it’s noth- Hyne on the half shell, Jamie, I can hear you screeching, will you shut the fuck up for a nanosecond? I’m not going to fight with you over the Hynebedamned Emergency Dispatch!” 

I disconnected and banged my head against the headrest. “Apparently I can and will fight with my ex even in a burning building.”

“Nothing is burning except the cookies.” Squall pulled into our drive. 

The house did seem to be unharmed. There was a blue light along the roofline flickering, outshining the Yule lights and glittering tree in the front window. The emergency services beacon. We heard the faint wail of sirens in the distance. 

We both face palmed. I took a deep breath and we bailed out of the car. 

Generously, Squall offered, “I’ll handle the fire crew.”

I waved and sprinted for the house, pasting on my best ‘Dad has it all under control’ smile while unlocking the front door. I eased around the jumble of boots and wraps and the drifts of pine needles the tree was still gently shedding. “Team?”

A teenager came around the corner from the kitchen, bread knife held high in an attack she must have seen in a bad movie. I held up my arm to block and tried to remember her hynebedamned name. “Persia? Where are my daughters?”

Morgan, more realistically armed with a frying pan, peeked around her. “Daddy! There’s a man in the backyard!”

“Go stand in the hallway. Where’s your sister?”

“Packing.” 

“Persia, get Samantha, then stay in the hall with Morgan.” The teen sniffled but ran towards the girl’s room when Morgan gave her a push.

“Perdita, Daddy.”

“Stay there. Uncle Squall will be here in a minute, don’t whap him.” Neither Squall nor I were armed, but we were far from helpless. I turned out the lights for all the good it did. The alarm was still flashing and chirping and the oven cast a reddish glow from the little glass window. 

I closed my hand around _Aero_ to hide the visual effect and ghosted over to my kitchen door. Motion sensitive lights caught movement in the corner of the patio, heading towards my side gate, and lit up the whole yard. A man in all black moved like a tiger, unfazed by the sudden brilliance. I could cast through glass - line of sight - but it was tricky. Instead I catfooted out through the garage and listened by the side exit to the backyard. There was a rustle as the man passed by the overgrown hedge that lined the house. I doored him. He fell into the fence with a crash and a curse. 

I pounced, but he was quick and blocked my first grab. I changed my stance, preparing to hook it out, reluctant to throw _Aero_ in such close quarters. It would blow the guy through my fence and possibly into my neighbor’s front parlor. 

The intruder recovered fast, coming up to his feet balanced, ready to fight, and scarcely bothered by the shrub and other odds and ends that accumulate by one’s garage. I smiled. He looked nonplussed. 

The gate wrenched open and Squall was there. Back lit by the flashing red lights of the fire truck, he looked like the wrath of Hyne. Or at least the snit of Shiva, since a faint chilly mist was rising off him. I smiled wider.

Caught between the two of us, the stranger raised his hands. “I’m from Vanguard Security,” he said. “Are you Seifer Almasy? Your wife insisted we send over someone to check the house.”

“Ex-wife,” I sighed, dropping my spell.

Less impressed, Squall growled, “Credentials.”

The security agent lowered his right hand to reach inside his coat. Now that I was looking, I could see the logo of Vanguard embroidered on his jacket. Typically it would also be across his back, but Squall is a suspicious man. 

“Touch the gun and you are a dead man.”

Make that, deeply suspicious. Well, he _was_ ex-SeeD. 

“Hyne, what did she even call us for?” The Agent handed over a wallet that held a badge and security ID with photo. “I’ll need some ID from you, as well. To prove you are the homeowner.”

“Do you get a lot of folk who sneak around other people’s houses in formal wear?” I squinted at it in the dark. Looked close enough to me, the girls were ok and I didn’t really want to fight in my fancy assed suit. Or have Squall kill anyone on my property. I nodded to Squall, who reluctantly stepped aside. We followed the agent around the garage to the driveway.

The leader of the firefighting team had finished resetting the beacon and they were preparing to drive off. I waved to them, and to the various neighbors who were standing on their porches, watching. Now that I was paying attention, there was a dark van shape parked across the street with the Vanguard Logo on it. Funny I didn’t notice it when we drove up. 

“Harmon Joop,” I read by the colored Yule lights. I passed the ID to Squall, who took a picture on his phone before handing it back to Joop. 

Make that _extremely_ suspicious and a tad paranoid.

I handed over my own ID card, which Joop scanned carefully, mostly so as not to be outdone by Squall. “Jamie Almasy is still listed as your wife and alternate contact,” he said defensively. 

“I’ll fix that tomorrow.” Jamie was in town, after all, and Samantha’s mother, which was my logic for leaving her on the list. But Squall was also in town and had his own car. And was less likely to panic half the emergency services over burnt cookies. 

“Because someone was in the house but didn’t know the code, protocol requires a physical follow up,” Joop continued. He seemed to be explaining more to Squall than me. He knew the tougher audience. “The secondary contact confirmed, so I was scouting the house. I triggered your yard lights - good job, by the way, nice safety feature, the service would approve - and I guess I scared the people inside. They wouldn’t answer the door when I knocked. I heard arguing, so went around the back to see what was what.” He brushed some damp leaves out of his hair. “Sorry.”

“Just doing your job,” I soothed, not planning to apologize for dooring him. 

“Cooking mishap set off alarm, new babysitter panicked. Thank you for coming.” Squall steered the agent towards his car. With Squall’s gunblader’s grip, Joop had a choice of cooperating or his arm would be going to the van without him. I went back inside to do damage control. 

Whatshername was standing in the hall, knife still in hand. Behind her were Morgan and Samantha. Samantha was complaining. 

“I just got Ameratha’s stuff all packed and the house isn’t even on fire?”

“Lady Bug, if the house was on fire, you don’t pack, you and your sister leave right away. You know that, we had a drill.”

“Daddy!” I was mobbed by nearly tearful little girls. Even Whatshername bobbed about close by. 

I ruffled her hair. “Ok, troops, I see you’ve been busy.” The house did smell faintly of burnt sugar. That was all it took for the real tears and wails to start. Squall slipped in and nearly did a 180 right back out the door.

I crouched down and hugged everyone. “It’s ok. The house is ok, you are ok, we are ok. Is Cori ok?”

Perdita, that’s her name, wiped her nose and nodded. “Mom said she’d be all right. I got the kind with walnuts instead of pecans; she’s super allergic.”

“Well, she didn’t notice either so it couldn’t have been written on the label too clearly, so don’t blame yourself. And the oven is tricky, I bet you set it on ‘self clean’, right? Once it starts you can’t stop it for love or money.”

Squall drifted into the kitchen to confirm.

“The cookies are dust.” Now that I was home, Morgan seemed to find this more hilarious than tragic. “There were little puffs of flames and they just sort of crumbled.” 

“Like a vampire in the sun,” Perdita added ghoulishly.

“Well, it got us out of the party we didn’t want to go to, so that’s something. And now we’re dressed up with nowhere to go. So who wants to go out for cocoa?”

I reset the alarm while Squall supervised coats, hats, and boots. I also called Jamie, because I’m a nice guy. 

“You son of a bitch, you cancelled the fire fighters again? I’ll kill you. And don’t tell me to calm down, do you have any idea how goddamn annoying it is to be told to calm down when your daughter is in danger and I can’t do anything because Pete has the car and -” She stifled a sob. 

Hyne on the half shell. “Jamie, it’s ok. Here, talk to Sami.” I handed the phone off like the coward I was. 

Samantha dealt with it like a champ, cheerfully informing her mother that “Cordelia is ‘lergic to walnuts and Portia had a date so we got Perdita who made vampire cookies. I got to give Uncle Mr Leon a corsage and now we are going for cocoa even though it’s bedtime!”

Reassured by Sami’s prattle, Jamie was almost civil when I got the phone back. “You took a man to the Mayor’s fete? What will people say?”

“Wheeler missed you, that’s for certain. Parts of you, at least.” Jamie knew which parts; I got a snort and she hung up. 

Squall took us all to a drive through coffee place, and I bought three fancy cocoas and two large ordinary coffees. The barista seemed to think we were no fun at all. 

We dropped Perdita off; I was glad to see her father’s truck in the driveway. When I paid her, I slipped her extra gil. “Buy your sister something nice.” Poor kid would probably never sit for us again, and with Portia growing up and dating and Cordelia getting married, I was going to be down to begging Jamie or Lani for help. Or Squall. Hmm. 

He took a roundabout way home, driving slowly through the residential areas so the girls could admire the decorations. “Is that a wooden Sun on that roof?”

“Yes and before you ask, those plastic yellow things are probably the Yule King’s magic chicabos.”

“I thought your ex’s several boxes of stuff was over the top.”

I laughed. “Oh Baby, you ain’t seen nuthin’ yet.”

There was competition, a presumably friendly rivalry in neighborhoods as to who could cram the most decorations and lights and associated crap into their yards. One place caused Squall’s automatic windows to darken from the glare.

Wonderingly, he asked, “Is that an inflatable merry go round? In a snow globe?” 

“Isn’t it neato?” Samantha gushed. “We should get one.”

“They sell a whole series of those down at the Hardware,” Morgan added. 

I put my two gil in. “Popular because they store fairly small.”

“Other than the air compressor.”

“You don’t store an air compressor. Thousand and one uses for that.” 

Squall seemed unconvinced. Clearly I had more small town homeowner experiences he needed to share. 

Following my directions we ended up partway up the mountain at a scenic overlook. In summer, in daylight, you could see the river winding through the town and the green fields. At night, it was mostly teenagers necking while pretending to star gaze. 

But that night, the city was alive with colored Yule lights, sparkling in the mist. We got out of the car and braved the cold so we could look down into the valley. Samantha felt the safety rails distracted from the view, so Squall put her up on his shoulders, holding her by the ankles like a pro. Naturally, I had to hoist Morgan up, nearly getting clocked by her cast in the process. 

I pointed out the general location of our house, and some of the more lurid neighborhoods we’d visited, while the girls ‘oohed’ and ‘aaahed’. The distance and fog softened the glare and made it all dreamlike, peaceful and beautiful. 

After a while, Squall said softly, “You’re right, the colored lights are prettier.”

“Nothing like home, eh?” Back in Balamb they used lanterns, and those only on Yule morning right before sunrise. Galbadia did a thing with decorative tins and bags full of sand, so that the light was cast in patterns, but it was still mainly candle light or battery operated candles. Colored lights and external decorating seemed to be an Estharian thing. 

“In the City, the decorations are mostly in the malls, or in people’s homes. They don’t put them outside so much; the normal city light pollution would out shine them.”

“What’s light pollution?” Morgan asked. 

“It’s when a lot of people using lights get together and make it so bright the birds can’t sleep,” I said. 

“You can see it from space. The big cities.”

“Poor birdies.” Samantha yawned hugely and leaned on Squall’s head. 

“Neato.” Morgan yawned, too. 

“And my little birds need to be back in their nest. It’s way past bedtime.”

 

 

Squall returned to the kitchen while I tucked the girls in. I thought he’d be busy with the coffee pot but when I joined him, Squall was checking out the oven. 

“It has a self-cleaning feature, which come to find out means it locks itself shut and cranks up the heat until anything you spilled literally burns off. Then once it’s cool you sweep out the ashes and you are good to go.”

“That’s an improvement?”

I shrugged. “Beats me, I have a cleaning lady who comes in once a month to point out all the stuff I missed. She handles the big jobs like the oven and windows.”

“Is she named Jamie? Fuujin?”

“Daisy, actually. Lani hired her for me. She went to High School with General Sephiroth, but she can make a floor sparkle. I think she has a GF - ‘Domestica’. It has a _Clean_ attack.”

“Useful.”

“Daddy!” Morgan was in the doorway, sleep mussed and barefoot. “The cookies!”

Squall had taken out the dusty remains of the cookies. Even the cookie sheet had warped. 

“You want a sandwich bag for those, Boss?”

“No, Daddy, I gotta bring cookies to school! Tomorrow! It’s party day!”

I checked my watch. “Store’s closed, but it opens at 6, I think. We can get up a little early and buy some.”

Her face fell. “Store bought cookies are for losers.”

“Yet you eat them just fine. Not everyone has a chef on staff, Boss. Go back to bed, we’ll handle it in the morning.” She reluctantly trudged off.

“We can make cookies,” Squall said. He dumped the vampire cookies, sheet and all, into the bin. 

“You don’t have to do that. And we don’t have anything to make cookies out of.”

“You have the leftover ingredients from the shortbread, I can make another batch.”

“If you want to, that would be great. The teacher at least would probably appreciate something that doesn’t have half an inch of icing on it. But you threw away my only cookie sheet.”

“It’s ruined.”

“We can flatten it back out.”

Squall gave me a look. “Seifer, once the nonstick coating has superheated, it can be toxic.”

“It can? That wasn’t in the Dad Handbook. Who knew?”

“Anyone with kitchen experience?”

I raised an eyebrow. “And that would be who, exactly? Wait, is your dad a chef?”

He paused in dumping flour into a bowl. “No, but cooking is his hobby. He has a stressful job.”

“Doing what?” Since Squall was playing in flour, I decided to man up and make the damn coffee myself. I took Thom’s homebrew out of the cupboard over the refrigerator and held it up. “Extra flavor.”

Squall gave me the hairy eyeball. 

“What? I had a nice buzz going and you _Esuna’d_ me.” Not like I was going to get snot flinging drunk, sheesh.

“He has a desk job,” Squall said, answering a question I’d nearly forgotten I’d asked. “With the government.”

“Poor bastard, small town politics are bad enough, I imagine he hates life in the big city.”

“It has its moments.” Squall somehow made flour and butter and sugar into cookie dough. When I tried something like that, I got weird sweet gravy. 

I passed Squall a cup, and set Thom’s bottle close at hand after giving myself a dollup. “You know, I had it in my head your dad was a pensioner, barely making ends meet.”

“I know,” Squall said dryly. He reached for the brew but seemed to change his mind. “I wondered how you thought I’d afforded the bike.”

“I figured you’d stolen a nest egg, just like I did.”

He did a double take and stared at me, frozen in the act of mashing dough into a cake pan. “I don’t believe it. When did you even have time?”

“For my life of crime? Time Kompression.” I poured us both more coffee, adding another hit to mine. Talking about the war always makes me antsy, but I managed to sound matter of fact.

Squall put the cookies in the oven and didn’t set it on ‘immolate’. He turned to me. “Seifer, I was there. There was nothing to steal. There was nothing at all. Miles and miles of endless nothing. Forever.”

Wow, no wonder Squall was fucked up. “That’s because you have no imagination. Let me think how to explain it.” I hoisted myself up onto the counter next to the coffee pot. “Ok, when you lose something, say, a sock, you look everywhere, and sometimes you still can’t find the damn thing. Because you didn’t actually look everywhere. You didn’t look, for example, in the bottom of a box of cereal. Because why would it be there? Why would any normal person who didn’t have little kids even think a sock would ever be in a box of cereal?”

“There’s a story there, but stick to the point.”

“She felt I needed a prize in my cereal like she got in hers. The point being, you can’t look for things in places you never think of. That’s why, even though all time was the same, you didn’t see this future, where you taught school and made cookies. You were only looking at the possible futures you expected to see. And you expected to be dead.”

Squall leaned back against the cupboards like I’d punched him. After a bit, he said, “You’re right.”

“You went into Time Kompression trying to stop it from ever starting, and when it triggered anyway, you were in total ‘sacrifice anything, give it everything to make it stop’ mode. So it took everything.”

He blinked at me. “And what mode were you in?” 

“Survival.” I sipped my coffee. “I figured out by that point Ulti was a nut job and Edea was playing me and the only way I was going to come out alive and mildly sane was to pick my battles.”

“I thought… I thought we’d killed you. But then reality… reset itself and it was the same and not right at the same time.”

“It’s weird, right? I didn’t see this either. Kids were not even on the radar. But I planned to be alive and not a bum, so I looked around for loot. Lots of valuable things have gone missing over the ages. I just helped myself to one or two.” I poured Squall some homebrew. He looked like he needed it. 

“You went back in time and stole the Lost Treasure of ShinRa?”

“No, too messy. Deling had been skimming for years, I just took a chunk out of his stash and split it with Fuu and Rai. Not enough to really raise eyebrows, but enough to pay for school and give us a start.” 

He raised his cup. “To treasures lost and found.”

I clinked mine to Squall’s. “And to surviving.”

 

 

I woke up on the couch, wondering why I was so damn uncomfortable. Oh, yeah, I was still mostly in my formal suit. Squall and I had stayed up late drinking and baking cookies, while dressed like extras from a movie about weddings. I sat up carefully. Squall clearly had only one Esuna left primed and he hadn’t wasted it on me. I wasn’t sure who had removed my dinner jacket and shoes, but I knew who left the glass of water and hard boiled eggs on the coffee table. I would have gone with a banana and a Hi-potion. Also, there was a note. It simply said, “Dumbass”. I grinned. Squall and I were still good, then. 

Somehow we all got through the day. It was the last school day before Winter Vacation, a glorious parent destroying two weeks that incorporated Yule, New Year’s, and the President’s Birthday. I wondered if Solange got him anything.

Morgan was delighted to wake up and find “real” cookies, not store-bought, to take to her class party. Sami and I were delighted that Squall had made enough so that we got some, too. We dropped Boss off with her box and went to work, where Sami entertained my crew with the story of the fire while they snuck the last of our shortbread to dunk in their coffee. 

The pageant was that night, so dinner was going to have to be fast and easy. Fortunately at some point in our drunken ramblings the subject had come up and Squall fixed a skillet casserole that just needed to be reheated and served with bread and butter. Someone should marry that man before he gets away. 

It was delicious, but I was the only one who noticed. Morgan was too hyped about partying all day at school and then going back at night for the pageant. Sami picked at her supper, I suspected put off her feed by a day of sneaking Yule candy out of the big bowl on Lani’s desk. 

The usual distractions didn’t work, so I did a half assed job of cleaning up and threw everyone in the truck. We took the long way to the school, looking at decorations again to kill a little time. It’s a good thing we decided to get there early; parking was already an issue. I found a tight spot that was only half a day’s march from the assembly room and we headed in.

Morgan was supposed to ‘dress nicely’ and to my utter shock, voluntarily donned the hated gold dress. She had my boutonniere from the night before pinned to her sash and her long blonde hair down. Not to be outdone, Sami dug out the rose colored velvet dress and headband of fabric roses. They were both adorable. 

The pageant planners were well aware that families would arrive together and that the kids would need time to be organized. We dropped Morgan off with her class and were guided by parent volunteers through a brief tour of the school library, a picture gallery created by all the classes, and a fundraising bake sale by a group promoting new science lab equipment. I donated heavily and was awarded a small box of peppermint fudge. 

I briefly saw Squall herding a group of older kids. He was subbing for an irascible fourth grade teacher who swore excess cute at Yule aggravated his sciatica. The kids didn’t seem to mind the switch. 

Sami and I found seats in the rapidly crowding auditorium. I was glad when Ansetta’s parents and sibs sat with us. That meant I could leave Sami with Grant and the little ones while Dulce and I filmed the show. The organizers had created a raised platform in the back for video addicted parents to stand on so as not to block anyone’s view.

The show started with a speech from Mrs Tegaten, the school principal, doing the traditional thing of thanking everyone and telling us how hard the kids had worked, etc. It was a gentle hint to be kind, but based on the anticipatory grins on most of the audience, harsh criticism would be sparse and far between. And come largely from siblings of the performers. 

First graders started the show, each class filing in to sing a classic Yule tune. Morgan’s class did the one about “Yuletime is coming, the goose is getting fat”; the other classes gave us “Jingle Bells” and “We Wish You a Merry Yuletide” before they were all dismissed to sit to the side of the stage. Some kids waved to family, but Morgan maintained a professional air and managed to look politely attentive as the second graders set up. 

The great thing about first grade going first was I got to sit down while the older kids did their thing. Second grade did “Frosty the Snowman”, “Deck the Halls” and one about a star. Whoever was in charge of third grade tried to have all the classes on stage at once in an overly ambitious musical interlude badly played by beginners Band, complete with interpretive dance and awkward pantomime. I discovered I was enough of a parent to find it completely endearing. 

Sami had higher standards and was restless. I offered her one of the peppermint things to keep her quiet but she shook her head and eventually sagged against me and dozed. Fourth grade did a short musical play about a lonely tree - that story was getting around - and fifth grade did a nice presentation about the solstice and how it works, complete with a few explanations about how certain traditions probably started. 

The junior high jazz band, no doubt volunteered by parents and sibs, played an interlude while the various grades disappeared behind the stage curtain. This was the big finale Morgan and Squall had been hinting about. I gently woke Sami and she sat up and rubbed her eyes. Grant slipped past us, heading to the video platform, promising to share the goods. 

The curtains parted and a professionally produced instrumental version of “The Twelve Days of Yuletime” blared from the speakers. The first graders started with “On the first day of Yuletime, my true love gave to me, a partridge in a pear tree.” Some of the kids held up cards with partridges on them; others had pears and pear trees. As each class sang a verse, they held up associated cards.

I glimpsed Squall and a few other teachers in the wings, coaching and conducting. Interestingly, after each stanza, some of the children filed off stage, leaving others to hold up new cards. 

By the time they got to the fifth graders singing the final day, twelve kids were left to harmonize about leaping lords, eleven for the dancing ladies, etc. As each batch sang their line, they too left the stage. I realized there was only one first grader left - Morgan. When it came down to her, alone on the stage, she belted out “Annnnndddddd a parrrarrrrtriddddggeeeeee innnnnn a pearrrrr treeeeee” and brought the house down. 

My kid could sing. Who knew?

We were all on our feet clapping. I was hating myself for not recording it, but I trusted Grant to do Morgan proud. Ansetta had been in the next to last group of kids to go, after all. 

Sami chirped, “That’s MY sister.”

“She’s really good, isn’t she?” I was still in shock. 

All the kids trooped back on stage to have their classes and teachers announced and to share the applause. We gave the entire thing a standing ovation. 

I looked for Squall in the mob, but he was surrounded by other teaches. I signed ‘need extraction?’ and he replied ‘situation contained’ so I left him to it. 

Morgan ran up. “Daddy, did you see?”

“I sure did, Boss, and I’m impressed. You did a great job.” Sami agreed, eyes bright. 

“Some of us are going to The Snow Den for ice cream,” Dulce said. “Would you like to join us?”

I knew Morgan’s answer, she was already tugging on her coat and chatting excitedly with Ansetta and her other classmates. “What do you think, Lady Bug? You up for dessert?”

“No.”

I looked down, startled. Was Sami jealous of her sister’s 15 minutes of fame?

Samantha rubbed her eyes, her face flushed. “I don’t feel so good.”

Uh-oh.


	24. Countdown to Yule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgan beamed at me. “You don’t have to do that. Let him think you thought of it by yourself.”

I had never willingly participated in a pageant. Despite Selphie’s best efforts, I was never even involved in the organization. She didn’t know my weakness, but the school principal, Ms Tegaten, did. 

“Reg King’s sciatica plays up every year. He takes from Family Day to New Year’s off.”

“Isn’t this hunting season?” King had been bragging about his cabin and prowess at slaying wildlife. I didn’t judge; Seifer and I also hunted. We went for monsters, to restock spells and protect the locals and livestock. King hunted for ‘sport’, a concept I found strange, but at least he could eat what he killed.

“I think so, but the real reason is, Reg claims he’s allergic to sap. Even when he was here, he wouldn’t participate in the pageant in any way.”

I nodded, skimming the lesson plans. The man was a chocobo’s ass but his notes were clear and concise, if bereft of references to the holidays. Perhaps his cologne wrote them. 

Ms Tegaten continued, “That’s all well and good for him, but the children enjoy the pageant and no one likes to be left out. They get so disappointed. So would you…?”

“I am not musical.”

“Oh, that’s all right, none of us are particularly, save Heather Rybicki.” Ms Tegaten gave me the proposed program. “Your class will have tryouts for speaking parts in the play, anyone not chosen will do back up chorus and scenery.”

I scanned the documents. “You mean, dress as trees and stand in the back making…” I did a double take. “...musical tree like noises?”

She patted my arm. “Oh good, you read stage directions.”

 

 

It quickly became clear during the tryouts that most children love the idea of acting but lack the skills. Ms Rybicki managed to find a few who could say their lines competently and moved on to sorting out the finale. That took some time, as the best singers had to carry the less skilled, and the tuneless could not be in the final verses where they didn’t have the protection of masses of voices. Not surprisingly, many first graders had tolerable singing skills but only one had the courage and stage presence to sing solo. 

Morgan Almasy swore me to secrecy. “Daddy and Lady Bug will get all amped up about it and make me all nervous. And Lady Bug will talk Daddy into buying me a new outfit and one dress is enough, sheesh.”

Her logic was sound but it left me without Seifer to advise exactly what sorts of musical noises trees made. Perhaps it was for the best. 

I went with my second greatest source of nonsense, my father. I wondered if reproducing somehow stimulated the whimsey gene. If so, that meant I could also call Zell.

In fact, I consulted them both. Laguna offered the insight that the Trees were most likely supposed to be back up singers, like the Jelleyes were for Julia Heartilly when she toured. From the one vid I saw, their contributions were dancing in the background and making “ooh” noises.

Zell, more practical, suggested I simply ask the kids themselves. “And whatever it is, send me a vid!”

I took Zell’s advice. He had also taught primary grades, and he had at least twice as many offspring as Laguna, making him the clear expert. 

Mrs Tegaten was correct, the children loved being involved in the pageant, largely because it consumed class time formerly allotted to dull things like arithmetic. I posed my question, opened the floor for discussion, and was astonished at how quickly they came to a consensus. 

“You have to sway like this,” Mose Pepper said, gyrating back and forth. 

Violet Hale added, “And sort of sing and sigh, ‘ohhhhhhoooOOoohhh’.”

Ladies and Gentlemen, Class 4-B presents the Yuletide rendition of Julia and the Jelleyes. 

 

We did not get off as lightly as that. Fourth grade had the all important ‘colley bird’ verse in the finale, as well as participation duties in ‘maids a-milking’ and ‘pipers piping’. The class discussed the possibility that all twelve days were meant to represent some type of bird, as giving people as gifts was ‘icky’. It seemed as good a solution as any, until Granville pointed out that toad in the hole had nothing to do with reptiles and maybe it was all supposed to be types of food. I separated the birds and the food supporters and set them to researching. The results were inconclusive, but we gained excellent art sources for our colley bird posters and a recipe for ‘nest cookies’. 

Drilling the children to sing their parts, stand in the correct spaces, and raise the correct poster at the right moment was not as difficult as the other teachers indicated. Perhaps King’s class was particularly adept. 

I spotted Seifer at the pageant. He had recovered well from the night before. Or he’d used an Esuna like I had. The show went well, with only minor mishaps. Morgan Almasy would have made both parents proud; her father was grinning from ear to ear. Since they were surrounded by Morgan’s friends, and I was likewise contained by a circle of my peers, Seifer and I were unable to do more than signal to each other that all was well. I noticed the Almasys left quickly, with Seifer carrying Samantha, but she was a small child and easily crushed or lost in the crowd. 

 

 

“My kid has spots.”

Knowing there was a punchline waiting, I played along. “Acne? Freckles?” I gave the omelet I was cooking a gentle poke. The cat watched intently from the top of the refrigerator. He was hanging around the apartment more, lately, and putting on weight now that he was no longer wasting calories trying to stay warm. 

The speaker caught Seifer’s sigh and my phone broadcasted it perfectly. I could almost see the eye roll. “No, like pepperpox.”

Startled, I almost dropped the spatula. Fortunately, Seifer couldn’t see me. “But not exactly like pepperpox.”

“No, Squall. Exactly like pepperpox. Sami has pepperpox. She’s running a high fever, has a headache, sore throat, no appetite, and is achy, miserable, and covered with little red spots. The pediatrician took one look over the vid cam and confirmed it.”

There is a highly effective vaccine, it’s been out for years. Seifer and I got it as cadets. It was so effective people thought the disease was eradicated and backed off pushing the preventative. That led to an epidemic and mandatory shots, at least at Garden. In Esther, vaccines were required to attend public schools but neither were compulsory. 

“Samantha didn’t get the inoculation.”

“No.” Seifer sighed again. “I can tell I’ll be having this conversation a lot. We were doing allergy testing and Sami pinged a potential reaction to one of the key ingredients. Her pediatrician didn’t want to risk it at the time, hoping Sami would outgrow the allergy or at least the other stuff that was going on. Which she did, well, I don’t know about the vaccine but she’s healthy enough to withstand a reaction now. Except for having the goddamn pepperpox, that is.” Seifer huffed. “We were going to do the full round this summer, before Sami started kindergarten. Waited a bit too long. Dammit.”

“It’s not your fault. How did she catch it? What’s the incubation period?”

“Couple days, a week, I think. It’s all those Yule parties and pageants and shopping, could have been anyone anywhere. Folk pick up weird germs traveling over Family Day and come home to share the bug. And you know little kids are germ factories.”

Samantha was as fussy about dirt as a surgical nurse, so I wasn’t convinced. I knew the percentage of people who genuinely could not get the vaccine was very small, but the percentage of people who either couldn’t be bothered, preferred to gamble, or had unsubstantiated biases against shots in general was stupefyingly large. And now the little girl was sick during the holidays. 

“How is Morgan?” I slid the omelet onto a warmed plate, then cut off a portion. The cat lightly jumped down for his share. 

“Boss is as healthy as bran cereal. She got the shot, way back when, too.”

“I meant, how is she taking her little sister being sick at Yule?”

“I don’t think she knows yet. She spent the night with her best bud, Ansetta, you remember Dulce and Grant?” 

I made an affirming noise. The brand of bacon I bought was too salty, it overpowered the egg and mushrooms. The cat disagreed, carefully digging the bacon bits out eat first. Like Seifer, he avoided the mushrooms.

“I had to call and warn them, we sat together last night at the pageant, but all the kids have had the stab so they’re good. Dulce would leave the explaining about Sami to me.”

Seifer didn’t say, but I knew, that he’d worried about his daughter accidentally infecting the other children and felt responsible. It wouldn’t have been a conversation Seifer enjoyed. Which brought to mind, “Have you told Samantha’s mother?”

“First thing after Doc Benake confirmed the diagnosis my Fretful Parents’ Handbook suggested. Jamie tried to blame me but I reminded her it was actually the doctor’s decision which we discussed and agreed to support.” Seifer laughed mirthlessly. “On the up side, no fighting over where Sami is going to spend Yule. Jamie won’t get within shouting distance of Sami while she’s sick. Pepperpox can be very damaging to fetuses and Jamie won’t risk it, even though she’s had the vaccine. She said Pete would drop the girl’s gifts off. At the office.” 

“One man’s disaster is another man’s opportunity,” I quoted. 

“I let Mrs Tegaten know just in case Sami started an epidemic.” 

“If it’s any consolation, all the children who were enrolled at the school, and all the teachers, have had the inoculation. Logically, their siblings would have it too.” I gave up on the omelet, giving the rest to the cat. His standards were not as high and he happily accepted. 

Seifer spoke off to the side, soothing Samantha. “Just give me a minute, Lady Bug.”

“How can I help?”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

 

 

Morgan clambered into the SUV and strapped herself in. “Slick, I never get to sit up front.”

She had no luggage, but did bring a small shopping bag. Ansetta’s indulgent parents had taken the girls to the One Gil Emporium that morning and allowed them to purchase some Yule gifts. Knowing Seifer’s pride I tried to reimburse Grant, but neither he nor Dulce would allow it. 

“Seifer put in a ramp and handrail for my grandmother and wouldn’t let her - or us - pay.” Dulce patted my arm. “A few gil at the OGE is nothing, so don’t even think about it.”

I thanked them and got us on our way. Morgan was sitting quietly but she was drumming her fingers on the armrest and had a look I remembered all too well from growing up with her father. She was plotting something. 

“You did an excellent job last night, Morgan. Everyone was very impressed.”

“Thanks, I could tell it came out ok. You did a good job, too, your class was the only one where no one messed up the cards and stuff.”

“Thank you.” Trying again to make conversation, I offered, “Did you have a good time with Ansetta and her family?”

“Oh, sure, Ansie is the best and her little sisters are dolls. We gave the baby a bath, it was great, there was water everywhere and she just laughed and laughed at the rubber duck for some reason, so funny. And this morning Mrs Rainwater made pancakes with apples and bananas.”

“That sounds interesting. Cooked in or on top?”

“Bananas cooked in, I think, and maybe applesauce too. Apple cinnamon on top.” Morgan gave me the side eye. “Always asking about food, you and Lady Bug.”

“It’s a hobby,” I explained. “Ah… your father asked me to run some errands for him, do you mind riding along?”

“Ok, Ewemel, what gives?”

“Excuse me, what did you call me?”

“Ewemel, UML, Uncle Mr Leon, don’t change the subject. What’s going on? Daddy doesn’t ask people to run errands for him. He doesn’t ask _me_ if I want to spend the night with Ansetta, I ask _him_. And he’d bring over my stuff, but he didn’t. I had to borrow Ansie’s second best nightie and unwrap a guest toothbrush. And I’m still in a dress!” She huffed irritably. “The last time this sort of thing happened, Jamie messed up having Sami and they were all at the hospital forever and I had to go stay with Aunt Fuu and Uncle Rai. Did Jamie goof up her baby again?”

Choosing my battles, I said, “Do you remember that? You were very little.”

“Not so much when it happened, but Uncle Rai’s Momma said something about it last time we were there.” Honestly made Morgan add, “Not exactly in those words.”

Rumor had it Raijin’s formidable mother disliked Seifer’s ex so it was possible the terms were at least similar. “To my knowledge, Jamie has not had her baby yet and isn’t due for a while. She certainly did not ‘goof up’ Samantha.”

“Tell me what’s going on! Is it because you won the fight? Do Sami and me belong to you, now?”

“Fight? When we were sparring? That was practice, playing, your father told you that. I assure you, if anyone tried to take you girls away, Seifer would put up a much bigger fight. And I would help him.” One the same side, we’d be unstoppable. Interesting thought. 

“I don’t want to leave Daddy, but you’d be ok, I like you and so does Sami and you have a cat. But if we aren’t leaving then what?”

Seifer would forgive me for telling Morgan instead of letting him break the news. “Samantha is very sick -”

She went white. “How sick? Dying sick?”

“No, no! She has the pepperpox.”

Morgan frowned. “What’s that? Is it bad? Does it hurt? What does it do to you? How do you make it go away?”

I took a deep breath. “It’s not dangerous if you have someone to look after you, which Samantha does. You run a fever and feel bad and break out in spots. We are going to pick up some medicine and a few other things to help your sister feel better. But important thing is your father didn’t want to leave her alone or with a sitter right now because she feels so bad. And he can’t bring Samantha with, the cold air wouldn’t be good for her.”

Morgan thought it over. “Cool, these spots, are they like leopard spots or spotted dog or polka dots or what?”

 

Foolishly, I thought a pharmacy would be safe from the Yule extravaganza. Morgan and I both checked at the door, stopped short by the glittering displays just inside. 

“Neato.” Morgan charged over to a table covered in a snowflake sequined cloth and stacks of bright foil boxes in the traditional Yule colors. She picked up a sample bottle and sniffed. “Too flowery, ugh.” Morgan flitted over to the next table, which was more of the same only in darker, matte finished boxes. “Here we go, men’s stuff. Daddy likes this one.” She held up a dark red box which held curiously shaped bottles of aftershave and cologne that promised to make one smell like a spice laden sea voyage. Not a scent I would have associated with Seifer, but that could have been bad copywriting. After all, I’d been on several sea voyages and spices were not what came to mind.

“What we need will be in the back.” Away from the Yule promotions. 

“Yes, but you need a present for your dad, don’t you? You said the Yule King doesn’t bring stuff for grown-ups.”

“Did you want to get this for your father?”

“Oh, no, Daddy has tons of that stuff. Your dad. ...oh, look, this one comes in a motorcycle!”

I obediently picked up the box. It was ‘Afterburner, a cologne for men on the go’, with notes of herb, musky woods, and one presumes, nitrous oxide. It came in a glass bottle more or less shaped like a classic motorcycle, although necessity required a screw on cap someplace between the rear fender and exhaust pipe. Oddly, it was pale green, but due to the packaging I was unable to determine if that was the glass or the liquid. It was on sale for three gil. 

“You should get that for your dad.”

“Yes. I’ll tell him it was your suggestion.” I put the box in my handbasket, amused by the idea of the President wearing - as I knew he would - three gil drugstore cologne.

Morgan beamed at me. “You don’t have to do that. Let him think you thought of it by yourself.” 

“Do you and your sister have anything for your father?”

“Sami made him a handprint thing to hang on the tree at school and I bought him the coolest thing at the One Gil Emporium, it’s a pig that sucks bread crumbs off the table cloth. Mr Rainwater said it might need batteries but Daddy has lots of those.”

I put a pack of small batteries in my basket, just in case. “What about his birthday?”

“That’s the same day, isn’t it?”

“Not this year, because Yule moves a little with the solstice, your father’s birthday is the day before.” We headed towards the mundane offerings of children’s fever reducers, mint scented rubs, and soft facial tissues with lotion and germ killers. 

“Oh. I could draw him a picture. I don’t know if Lady Bug is going to feel up to drawing, though.”

“Would you like to help me with my present for him?”

“Can we say Sami helped, too? She would if she could, you know.”

“Yes, that’s an excellent idea.” We shook hands. “I thought I would come over early on Seifer’s birthday and cook a big breakfast for everyone.”

“That’s a good idea, Daddy likes to eat your food. Don’t do pancakes, we’ll have those on Yule. And Daddy buys a big tray of lasagna and makes bread with garlic butter because then we have all the Yule colors and after we have coconut cake from the freezer and cherry ice cream.” 

I blinked. Yule dinner at the Palace was a tedious, formal affair with numerous courses, predominantly featuring beef, salmon, and wild game in rich sauces. We opened presents in the morning or the president would not be able to sit still through it all. 

Morgan looked at me anxiously. “You’ll be there, won’t you?”

“No, my father is expecting me. But I’ll be there the day before, for the birthday party.”

“The birthday party Daddy doesn’t know he’s going to get. We need balloons.” Morgan charged off towards the neglected aisle of birthday cards and non-Yule wrapping accoutrements. 

I followed, beginning to see why Seifer described parenting as “mainly damage control”.

 

 

“Daddy? Lady Bug?”

“We’re in the bathroom,” Seifer called back. 

Morgan held up her bag and pantomimed that she was going to take it to her room. I nodded, heading to the kitchen to put away the crackers and ginger ale and other sick child fodder we’d purchased. I set the bag with the medicines on the counter. It also contained, on Morgan’s advice, a comic book about animals dressed as people. It heavily featured a duck with anger management issues. There was also a coloring book of simple Yule icons. 

I got to the bathroom before Morgan; she had stopped to change out of the hated dress. Seifer was sitting on the floor beside the bathtub. Samantha was obscured by the poodle covered curtain. He looked stressed. 

“Hi, we’re making kid gravy.” Seifer held up a box of corn starch. 

“You make gravy?”

“Only out of children, and this is a tough one.”

“It doesn’t taste very good,” Samantha said, because of course she’d sampled it.

Seifer looked pained. “It’s supposed to help with the itchies, Lady Bug, it’s not to eat this time.”

And a warm bath would help with the fever too. I signaled to Seifer _Evac?_ He shook his head. So Samantha wasn’t as bad as that. Yet. “I’m going to make chicken noodle soup.”

“Yum,” came politely from behind the poodle curtain. None of Samantha’s typical vivacity was evident.

“Thanks, that would be great.”

Morgan slipped past me, and peeked at her sister. She laughed, “You look so funny, you are covered with spots!”

Samantha burst into tears and Seifer face palmed. Her older sister had inherited their father’s verbal agility, however, and she quickly added, “Just like a real lady bug! You must be a 19 spot kind, they are the prettiest.”

Sniffling, Samantha said, “But they have black spots and mine are red.”

“So they are all lady bugs. We can draw black spots on them.”

“Ohh, can we?”

Seifer finally recovered enough to interject, “Let’s not do anything to make the itching worse right now.” He stood up. “Time to dry off and get dressed. Boss, will you make a nest on the couch for your little sister?”

I waited a few moments to see if Morgan would need assistance, but she seemed to have a clearer idea of how to make a nest than I did. Samantha had been a sickly baby so Morgan, with her take charge personality, must have had practice. 

Morgan gathered pillows, blankets, sheets, dolls, and stuffed toys and arranged them on the couch, similar to how she had been arrayed after breaking her arm. By that point Samantha was dressed in a pink checked flannel gown and bunny slippers. Seifer carried her to the living room. 

For once, it was not actively raining, but the day was dark and dismal. Seifer let Morgan tuck Samantha in while he drew the drapes and turned on the tree. I went back to dicing vegetables. 

Seifer joined me for a cup of coffee. 

“How is she really?” I asked quietly.

“Fever is still higher than I’d like but not quite emergency room level. She’s itchy and achy and miserable. I’d like to punch someone, but I suspect the one who needs it most is me.”

Deciding nothing I could say would help Seifer’s guilt, I pointed to the medicines. Seifer read the instructions, doled out a dosage, and mixed it with applesauce. He plastered on a jaunty smile, squared his shoulders, and bounced back to the living room. 

Morgan had been doing her best, but she was growing frustrated with her sister’s lack of enthusiasm and inability to follow orders. Both girls were cranky.

“Here is some stuff that will make you feel better, Lady Bug. It tastes like apple ass, though.”

“Really? I like apples.”

“Let’s try it, then. Boss, will you find a movie to watch?”

“Not Princess Pink again, I _can’t_.”

“Well, I don’t want grumpy old Storm of SeeD!”

“Storm of SeeD is the coolest!”

“Boss.” Seifer took a deep breath. “ _I_ want to see the one about the mermaid. Put it on for us, please.” 

“I didn’t think you liked that one. You said sponges had no brains.”

“We haven’t seen it ten thousand times and we know where it is, so it’s the one I want to watch. Put it on, Boss. Lady Bug, down the hatch.”

“I don’t want to watch the mermaid. I want to listen to music.” There was a muffled gurgle, Seifer must have taken advantage of Samantha’s open mouth to insert the medicated applesauce. “Cold!”

“But not nasty?” Seifer seemed bemused. I poured a small glass of ginger ale, just in case. 

“I dunno, tastes like the apples were dirty and maybe had bugs on them.”

“Maybe it will be better next time.” 

“What kind of music do you want, Lady Bug?” Morgan was over by the sound system. 

“Yule.” Samantha’s voice was scratchy and fading. “And when the pear tree song comes on, you sing it for me, ok?” 

“S-sure.” 

I paused in the door, stunned by the stricken look Morgan sent her father. She signed _Critical Assistance Required?_

Seifer shook his head and signaled back _Situation Under Control, Good Job._

“I can read those too, you know,” Samantha said accusingly. 

Of course she could. I wondered if Seifer taught the signals to his wives, or if he unconsciously allowed having a secret language with his daughters to further alienate them. 

At least that would not be a problem with us. 

Except there was no ‘us’.

And there would be no ‘us’. 

Strangely depressed, I retreated to the kitchen to finish making soup. 

 

Since school was out for the holidays and Seifer was occupied with caring for Samantha, I volunteered to take Morgan in to get her cast off. 

First stop was imaging to ensure she was fully healed, and then an interview with a nurse. Morgan took the news that her arm would be dirty, itchy, and ‘weird looking’ with much more aplomb than her vainer little sister had the spots from the pepperpox. Samantha was feeling well enough to fuss about her ‘complexion’; Morgan’s response to the nurse’s caveats was “Neato.”

Next we went to have the cast actually removed. 

This was more complicated than anticipated, as Morgan would not let them cut through any artwork she particularly approved. 

“Not the cat! Or the raccoon. Or -”

The amused tech said, “Look, we have to cut somewhere. Isn’t there anyone who signed you don’t like?”

“Dyl drew a w looking thing he said was a bird but I think it was a butt. Cut through that. I can have the cast back after, right?”

“You won’t want it back,” the tech said confidently. 

“I so will!”

“No, because it hasn’t been washed in there for over a month and it will stink.”

Morgan sniffed her wrist and shot me a concerned look. 

“I’ll take pictures all around with my phone,” I offered. “Then you will have the art without the smell.”

“That’s a good idea, I am kind of tired of the ratty old thing.”

“All right!” The tech, happy to be allowed at last to do his job, picked up the saw. “Now, this makes a lot of noise-”

“Neato!”

“-er, but it won’t hurt you. Let me show you-”

“Oh I know it won’t hurt,” Morgan said confidently. 

The tech paused in surprise. “You’ve had casts before?”

“No, but Daddy said if you hurt me, Ewemel would cut your Hynebedamned head off.” She gestured at me.

“Um.” The tech looked at me, expecting me to refute or at least dissemble. 

I could do neither, as that was a direct quote from Seifer on our parting that morning. Instead I said, “Courage, Corpsman. Trust your tools.”

He picked up the saw, muttering under his breath, “Another Hynecursed Storm of SeeD cosplayer.”

 

 

I set the shredded potato, cheese, and egg casserole in the carry, along with the thick ham steaks. Samantha had recovered enough to regain her appetite, so I felt confident in my original menu for Seifer’s birthday. There would also be baked apples, croissants, and a coffee cake style birthday cake. 

The cat was settled in with clean litter, a gravity feed water dish, plenty of dry food, and a new bed he was ignoring in favor of sleeping on the box it arrived in. I created a small over hang to prevent rain pouring in through the window I left open so the cat could come and go at his whim. My next door neighbor promised to feed the cat whenever he saw it or twice a day, whichever occurred more often. 

My plan was to breakfast with the Almasy’s and leave from their place to drive to Esther for Yule. Due to the logistics of transporting food, luggage, and gifts, I was driving the SUV and resigned myself to a much longer and duller commute. 

My phone trilled; it was Morgan. She had been excited about helping with her father’s surprise birthday party. So excited in fact she was calling me at an unusually early hour. Amused, I answered with, “Good morning, you’re up early.”

“Ewemel. Daddy is on the floor and I don’t know what to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nest Cookies
> 
> (flings recipe and runs for cover)
> 
> 2 egg whites  
> 1 cup sugar  
> 1 cup shredded coconut  
> 2 cups corn flakes  
> 1/2 cup chopped nuts (optional)  
> 1/2 teas vanilla  
> 1 tables flour
> 
> Beat egg whites until light. Add sugar slowly. Stir in coconut, corn flakes, nuts and vanilla. Add flour and mix well.
> 
> Drop by spoonfulls on ungreased cookie sheet. Depress center slightly to resemble a messy nest.
> 
> Bake 20-25 min at 300


	25. And a Merry Yuletide to all!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It only took a couple years, but here is Yule with the Almasys, at last.

“Ewemel. Daddy is on the floor and I don’t know what to do.” Morgan’s voice was shaking.

I reached for my jacket. “On the floor how? Is he breathing? Conscious? That means awake.”

“I know. He said he’s tired. He was there when I got up during the night to get Lady Bug a drink of water. But he’s still there and he called me Kristy and told me to leave him alone.”

“Quisty.” I found myself in the car, pulling into the sparse traffic without entirely knowing how I got there. I’d brought the food basket and gifts, too. Very efficient subconscious. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Put a blanket over your father so he doesn’t get chilled, and take the bolt off the door.” I had a key. 

“Ok. Last night he said not to call anyone but I knew he wouldn’t be mad if I called you.”

“You did well, Boss. I’ll be there soon. Don’t worry.” I was doing enough worrying for both of us. 

I broke a few laws getting to the house. I didn’t need my key, Morgan yanked the door open as soon as I was on the step. 

“He didn’t want the blanket, he said he was hot.”

“All right. Where is your sister?”

“I told her to stay in bed.” 

“Good call. Please take this to the kitchen if you can lift it.” I gestured to the basket, which Morgan obediently dragged off. I wanted both children out of the way if I had to throw a _pinion_. 

I found Seifer lying in the hall, curled on his side. He was dressed in sleep pants and a thin tee shirt. I could feel the heat rising off him when I knelt to check his breathing and pulse. 

“Seifer, can you get up?”

“D’n wanna.”

“Seifer, you can’t sleep in the hallway.”

“Am,” he pointed out correctly. 

I sighed and rolled him over, getting one arm around my shoulders. Working with children kept me surprisingly fit, but Seifer was bigger and heavier than I. We were both glad his bedroom wasn’t further away.

I deposited Seifer on his bed and investigated the en suite. It still had wallpaper of rustic outhouses, a relic of Jamie. What it didn’t have was any medications not prescribed for Samantha. Apparently, both Seifer and Morgan were normally as healthy as bran cereal. I ran hot water over a hand towel, grabbed the matching bath sheet, and hurried back to my patient.

Seifer was sprawled as I’d left him. In the better light of the bedroom, I could see he was covered with spots. 

Morgan and Samantha hovered in the doorway, in the large eyed, hunched manner of stressed children everywhere. 

“Your father has the pepperpox,” I told them. “He’ll be all right once his fever breaks. Go and wash up and get dressed and I’ll be out to fix breakfast shortly.”

Morgan saluted and trotted off. Samantha lingered. “Did… did I make Daddy sick? On his birthday?”

“No, the disease is caused by a virus. No one can command a virus, there isn’t even magic that does it. Don’t forget to brush your teeth.” I stripped the sweat damp pajamas off Seifer and sponged him down with the warm towel. He muttered protests and a few curses. I dried him off and rolled him under the blankets, which he immediately shoved off.

“Seifer. Who is your doctor?”

He focused on me slowly. “Skwl? Why’re you here?”

“Morgan called me because you passed out.”

“Did not. Jus took a lil nap.”

In the hallway. 

“Seifer, you have the pepperpox. Who is your doctor? I need to see if they can prescribe something for the fever.”

“Can’t get ‘pox, had the shot. You too. Don’ need a doctor, never sick.”

And he had magic. I sighed again. “Seifer, you are covered with spots. Like pepperpox. _Exactly_ like pepperpox. You have the pepperpox. I can’t believe you don’t even have a physician for routine checkups. Who will take care of the girls if you get really sick?”

That earned me a flash of the Almasy temper. “Damn well take care of them myself. F’k you.”

I gave him my best unimpressed stare. “I will give you Lionheart to own, case, pulse ammo, and Griever fob complete, if you can get out of bed and stand up without assistance right now.”

He didn’t even try, just glared back at me. Then Seifer frowned. “You gotta go, the vac musta been no good.”

“I had to get the whole series of inoculations again to teach school in Esthar. My other choice was to release my records from Garden.”

“Hyne.” Seifer’s eyes fluttered closed. “Sucks. Gunna sleep s’more.”

“Good plan.” I pulled the blankets back up around him.

 

 

The children needed to eat, so we went ahead with Seifer’s birthday breakfast without him. “We will set some cake aside for him.”

“Make coffee, too,” Morgan ordered. “Coffee always makes grown-ups feel better.” She was right, it would make me feel better, at least.

“I don’t know why, it’s nasty. Even with milk and sugar.” Samantha chimed in.

“It’s an acquired taste. Would you like some hot tea?” I regretted the offer, as all the tea I could find in the cupboard was lemon or peppermint. 

“Tea is just sad coffee. Or medicine.” 

“Your father said that, didn’t he?” Lemon tea might be good for Seifer, I set it out. 

The girls nodded. Morgan suggested, “Hot cocoa, Ewemel.”

“Is that Uncle Mr Leon’s new name?” Apparently it was if Morgan decreed it so. Samantha tried it out, then demanded her sister explain it before finally approving. “Ewemel, I can set the table.”

“Please do so, Samantha, thank you.” 

“I’ll get my camera so Daddy can see his party later.” Morgan ran off. 

I took advantage of the momentary peace and quiet to call my father. “I am going to be late.”

“Birthday breakfast running long?”

“No, Seifer caught the pepperpox. I can’t leave him, the children-”

“There will be other holidays, Squall,” Laguna soothed. “He should be up and around by New Year’s, right? Come when you can. Do you need me to switch you to the Palace Infirmary for advice?”

“No, I have someone to call. Thanks, L-...Dad. I’ll keep you updated.” We disconnected after sharing Yuletide blessings. 

The casserole was reheating nicely, and the girls were quibbling over using Yule placemats or the Special Birthday ones. Knowing they’d sort it out by doing it Morgan’s way, I called my expert.

“Squall!” Dr Kadowaki said, surprised. “I was just thinking of you boys. As I treated a cadet for a gunblade wound.”

I winced. “Blame Storm of SeeD.”

“Oh, I do. What’s up?”

I explained the situation. When she was done laughing, Dr Kadowaki informed me that if Seifer was otherwise healthy, as long as the fever didn’t spiral out of control and he kept hydrated, he should be fine in a few days. She recommended a fever reducer I fortunately had in my first aid kit in the car, as well as a few other coping methods. Encouraged, I asked about the vaccine failing.

Dr Kadowaki hesitated. “You kids used a lot of magical healing.”

“Of course. We had the gf’s, it would be foolish not to take advantage.”

“Empirical evidence suggests _Full-Life_ or _Phoenix Pinion_ can erase a vaccine from the body.”

I’d killed Seifer myself at least once during the war. Who knows how many times he was resurrected? “Hmm.”

“It’s just a theory, mind. The spell is too rare and expensive to use on animals and there’s no ethical way to test it on sentient beings, so… but I suspect that’s what happened. You’ve been exposed, now, too, and I know good and well Zell cast _Full-Life_ on you more than once.”

“Years ago. I haven’t needed much magical healing since I retired. And Esthar requires all teachers to be fully up on vaccines, so I had the full run done again last year.”

“All right, but be careful. You are contagious once the fever starts, even before the spots, so use your head and don’t start an epidemic.” Dr Kadowaki warned. “Be safe, wash your hands good, and have a happy Yule.” Then she laughed. “I knew you boys would find each other again.”

She disconnected, leaving me blinking at my phone. The girls summoned me to approve the Birthday place setting in Seifer’s typical chair, while the rest of us had Yule.

“We only have three Yule ones anyway,” Samantha explained. 

After breakfast I brought in my overnight bag and the first aid kit. I chose the couch in Seifer’s office as my bed for the night. It was closer to both Seifer and the girls. And couldn’t be as uncomfortable as the couch in the front room. 

I loaded a tray with water, ginger ale, hot lemon tea, dry toast and the pills and went to force all the above down Seifer’s throat. I was forty percent successful and called it a win. 

“Where’s… thought Quistis was here?”

“That was Morgan. There are striking similarities.” 

Seifer nodded and drifted back to sleep. I let him rest while the girls drew get well happy birthday cards and I planned lunch and dinner. Morgan and I took advantage of the lack of rain to rake the last leaves off the front lawn. Samantha, heavily bundled up, supervised/napped in the front seat of my SUV. 

The girls and I cooked, ate, cleaned up. We put together a Yule puzzle of kittens destroying a decorated tree. We watched a Yule special featuring fuzzy puppets and rock stars doing silly skits and singing. We watched a strangely engrossing nature show about unusual insects and cheered when the segment on Stick Bugs came on. We made a batch of sugar cookies and painted them with colored, flavored icing. Off and on during the day, I checked on Seifer, who was limiting his tasks to drinking water and sleeping. 

When I finally got the girls tucked into bed, I was exhausted but feeling accomplished. All three meals of the day had met with approval from both children, and while they were concerned about their father, they were placated by my assurances he would recover. It was tiring, being the focus of so much unremitting attention, but satisfying as well. 

I checked on Seifer one last time before retiring for the night. He was attempting to get up.

“No, what are you doing? Your fever hasn’t broken, you are too sick to be up.”

He looked blearily at me. “The Yule King.”

“What? What about him?” I pushed Seifer back onto the bed and pulled the blankets over him.

“The Yule King. Has to come. Tonight.”

“Seifer there is no way you can -... Seifer. I can’t do the Yule King.”

“Gotta come. Gotta do the thing.” He tried to get up again. 

“I’ll do it, you know I’ll do it. I just…” Helplessly, I confessed, “I don’t know how.”

Seifer gestured me closer. I bent down so I could hear him. He whispered in my ear as if bestowing one of the precious secrets of parenthood. 

“Squall… fake it.”

Then he smirked, the asshole.

 

I may have set Seifer’s recovery back several days by waking him every few minutes with another question.

I started easily enough, bringing in the gifts I had for the girls and Seifer from my vehicle. There had been no practical way to take advantage of Ellone’s offer to wrap them, so I’d ventured out to the stores and come home with an excessive array of bright papers, colored and “invisible” tape, bows, tags, and “curly ribbon”. The last was of great interest to the cat, who made off with at least one roll and several attempts at “curling”.

The results looked good stacked under the tree. With Seifer’s approval I’d gotten Morgan a play veterinarian's set complete with lab coat. Samantha got a beginner’s cooking set and matching apron. For Seifer there was a book I’d found: “Breeding Stick Bugs and Caring for Your Colony” but under that were six jars of Ma Dincht’s peach preserves. Seifer mentioned once that was the only thing he missed about Balamb, and Zell came through for me. 

My father also sent gifts for the girls. I warned him not to be excessive but he just laughed. I set those gaily wrapped packages under the tree with some trepidation. 

Seifer hid his gifts in the trunk of his car. I had to wake him twice to help find me locate the key. Many of these presents were wrapped (“Paid babysitter do do ‘em.”) and went under the tree. One had my name on it. It didn’t feel like it was spring loaded.

I made another trip down the hall to Seifer. “What do I do now?”

“Um. There’s a hat.” Samantha had been fussing with it, moving it place to place until she and her sister reached a consensus. “You gotta move it, like by the mirror so it looks like someone tried it on.” Seifer closed his eyes, reviewing a mental checklist. “Drink the milk. Eat at least one cookie. Smear the grain around for the magic chocobo. Um. Hide the little stuff and candy in the tree.”

I saluted and returned to my task. Once I started on Seifer’s Yule King gifts, I was on high alert. Every noise was potentially one of the girls rising and discovering me impersonating the anthropomorphic personification of Winter. Which was ironic since Shiva was with me and had more Winter-like abilities than any I’d heard ascribed to the Yule King. 

It was also more difficult than anticipated to hide candy and small toys in a make-over tree that was largely held together by strings of breakfast cereal and clumps of tinsel. I got most of the candy and Princess Pink’s new Yule ball gown to stay, but Morgan’s plush rhinoceros was simply too heavy. The racket it made when the branch snapped sent me back to Seifer.

He looked at me sleepily. 

“What do I do if they catch me?”

“Tell ‘em you heard a noise and’re checkin it out.”

“Do they actually believe… all this?”

“Wanna believe. Good enough.”

I supposed it was. “What if it won’t fit in the tree?”

“Hide it. Where a sorceress wouldn’t look but a little kid will.”

I decided the sorceress was particularly obtuse or near sighted, as I was hiding the toys under the tree with the other gifts. “There are two big boxes…”

Seifer smiled evilly. “Some assembly required. Tool box in garage.”

I don’t have an engineering degree like Seifer but I have done my fair share of assembling children’s toys and furniture. How hard could it be?

It wasn’t easy. There was considerably more than _some_ assembly required, and working by twinkling Yule lights while listening intently for childish footsteps did not facilitate the project. At midnight I made my third pot of coffee and debated phoning Zell for moral support. Or dragging Seifer down the hall and propping him up against the mantle. 

Finally Morgan’s motorcycle race track was together and level enough for one of the cycles to make the entire circuit without falling over. Or off the track. Relieved, I moved onto Princess Pink’s Fold-away Boudoir. This required, among other challenges, placing stickers to mimic drawer handles and picture frames, which in turn necessitated more coffee and more light.

Twenty two hours after I’d first gotten up to make Seifer’s birthday breakfast, I woke him again. “Whoever wrote the instructions for assembling those toys is either an idiot or a sadist.”

He nodded. “Last year it was bicycles. Not fun.”

I suppressed a shudder. “Now what?”

“Greet the sun. Keep girls out of tree and candy until after breakfast. Breakfast is-”

“Pancakes, I know, Morgan told me. Yule dinner is frozen lasagna, garlic bread, frozen coconut cake and cherry ice cream.” Despite my misgivings over pre-prepared frozen fare, the menu sounded better than what I would have been facing at the Palace. “How do we greet the sun?”

“Girls know.”

They were clearly the experts here. “It gets light around seven, doesn’t it? When do I wake the girls?”

Seifer just laughed. 

 

 

I did a quick walkthrough of the house, fed Seifer his meds, checked on the girls, and took a ten minute shower. I settled onto the reasonably comfortable couch at 3:40 am. 

At 4:15 Morgan woke me up. “Daddy said to ask _you_ if the Yule King came.”

Discarding my instinctual response as unnecessarily cruel, I murmured, “Yes. The sorceress as well.”

“And Zefer? There are toys left?”

Right, Zefer. “Of course.”

Morgan squealed and bounced up and down. Samantha called from their bedroom, “Boss? Did he come? Is it Yule?”

“Yes!”

There were shrieks of joy.

I groaned. Hoping for more sleep, I said, “You know you can’t open gifts until after breakfast.”

“Ewemel… we’re hungry.”

 

 

Seifer wanted to get up. I countered by sending his daughters in to torture, er, entertain him while I got the griddle heating and the pancake batter mixed. And made another pot of coffee. 

The special Yule mix was orange cranberry flavored. It stuck to the pan a bit and smelled faintly artificial when cooked, but the girls slathered each one with marmalade and ate them with gusto. And extra butter, whipped cream, and hot cocoa on the side. I drank coffee and micronapped. 

Then we had to turn on all the lights and light the fire, to scare away the long dark night or encourage the sun. Samantha wasn’t clear on the reasoning, just confident we had to do it.

Morgan took her away so they could dress in their Yule finery. I found Seifer sitting on the side of the bed, determined to get up. 

“Seifer, no.”

“This is the best part, I’m not gunna miss it.” He pouted. “Don’t you have _Treatment_?”

“No and even if I did I wouldn’t waste it on you. It can’t cure a viral infection, you know that.”

“But it can put it off a few days.”

I growled. “I don’t want to find out how you know that. We will turn the couch and you can lie in a nest and watch the girls open their gifts, which is my only offer.”

Wisely, Seifer took it. I discovered, helping him dress, he owned a set of Yule themed pajamas. They must have been a gift. The pattern was a Yule tree and packages piled beneath, but time, repeated washings, or original design rendered the effect slightly vulgar. I made him wear them anyway.

The girls appeared in matching gold sweatshirts, decorated with felt holly leaves and button berries. Jamie had sent over knitted caps and scarves to go with. 

We settled Seifer on the couch in a pile of pillows and blankets, and left the holiday music on for him while we trooped outside. 

All the houses on the street were alight. People drifted out, carrying candles, lanterns, pots and pans, mugs of coffee. Some were dressed in Yule themed clothing, others with pajamas or nightshirts visible below the hems of their coats. Greetings were exchanged. Everyone was facing east. 

Morgan and Samantha each had large, heavy, wide beam flashlights, and they were shining them back and forth up the road. Diagonally across the street, an older couple held lanterns aloft. Behind us, Seifer’s next door neighbors were beating a soft tattoo on tambourines. Many people were singing; I caught bits of a folk song about the rising of the sun and the running of the deer from across the street. 

Morgan and Samantha were singing an old ballad about a lover returning light to the singer’s life. I’d last heard that one at Zell’s wedding, when he and Nida combined their candles into one flame. It never occurred to me it was an ancient Yule hymn.

I realized this was what Yule was all about. Everyone doing the same thing at the same time - celebrating surviving the longest, darkest night- but doing it differently, each in their own way. There was a sense of belonging and community, but no requirement to conform. We all got through it, together or separately, and we would all see another dawn and another opportunity to improve. It was moving and freeing.

A shout went up. Morgan and Samantha shut off their flashlights; up and down the street other lights were extinguished. I fumbled with the app on Seifer’s phone to darken the Almasy home. In the dim, the first faint light of dawn colored the sky. Suddenly everyone was shouting, singing, laughing. I discovered what the pots and pans were for as people clanged on them to add to the din. 

As the sky lightened, the Church of Hyne rang its bells. More people streamed out of their houses, wise enough not to spend the entire ceremony out in the biting cold. Suddenly everyone was singing the same song, one I remembered singing as a small child, about greeting the sun and wishing it good morning. A sliver of red appeared and everyone cheered. Morgan and Samantha ran over, each taking one of my hands. 

“Happy Yule, Ewemel!” Samantha said.

“Yule is here, Ewemel!” Morgan added. “Happy Yule! … Let’s go open presents!”

 

 

First were the large gifts I’d assembled a few short hours ago. The unbridled glee as Morgan and Samantha sat on the floor to play with them was worth the lack of sleep. We gave them twenty minutes or so while I made more coffee and heated up some soup for Seifer. 

Seifer dozed on the couch while I supervised the girls denuding the tree. The wrapped gifts were pushed aside, revealing the toys “The Sorceress must have dropped” - the rhinoceros, a ‘tricked out’ motorcycle for the race set, some plastic furniture for the boudoir. Tinsel was removed as it impeded searching, as were the garlands of cereal. I suspected Seifer had a method behind his madness when the girls requested boxes to put the ornaments in. 

“They are just in the way,” Samantha explained. 

“We’ll leave the lights on until New Years, because they are pretty.” Morgan found a candy cane and offered it to her sister.

I reminded them, “We might need to leave the tinsel on as well. The tree was pretty scraggly.” 

“Oh that’s ok,” Samantha said, patting the tree. “It did its job already. Good tree. Good job.” She was unfazed by the rain of needles her affection caused. 

They found several small things I hadn’t placed. Seifer must have been sneaking gifts in over the previous weeks. Among them was a cone shaped ornament with my name on it. It held horehound drops, a candy I’d been fond of as a child. Mainly because Seifer detested them and never demanded I share. I offered some to the girls. Oddly, Morgan liked it but Samantha did not.

“Too sharp and not sweet enough to be candy. Tastes like a cough drop.”

The girls showed their father each treasure they discovered. Seifer would examine it, nod, and say, “Might be more, keep looking.” I realized as sick as he was he still was keeping a tally in his head. Finally he said, “Good haul, must have been a great hat, she sure was distracted. What’s in the wrapped stuff?”

The girls raced to the pile of presents. As Deputy Dad, my job was to make sure the right gift got to the right opener. And to stand back and avoid flying bits of ribbon and paper as the children attacked. 

To go with my gifts, which were well received, Seifer had purchased two books: ‘Exotic Animals’ and ‘You Can Cook!’, both age appropriate. Jamie, too, sent over books - ‘All About Cats’ and ‘The Pink Fairy Book’ which were beyond the girl’s reading skills. I would have added comprehension as well, but both children showed clear signs of inheriting Seifer’s superior intelligence.

Seifer promised we would read together after dinner. 

The ‘family’ from Turtle Bay, fully advised on various crises, sent a set of eight clear plastic placemats that a drawing or memento could be placed inside. There were also new boxes of crayons for each girl, and a stack of colored construction paper. Morgan approved and Samantha was dancing with delight. 

Seifer made an effort to unwrap his gifts but then passed the handprint ornament from Samantha to Morgan to unwrap, and the messily tissue paper bundled pig to Samantha to reveal. He managed to beam at them as if he’d been giving the keys to Heaven. “Nice work, thank you!”

He sat up in surprise when I handed him my gift. It was in a gift box and thus required only lifting the lid. “You didn’t have to-” Seifer glanced down at the book. “You asshole.” He shook his head when I moved the book aside to reveal his real present. “You are amazing. Thank you.”

Morgan picked up the book. “Ooh, stick bugs! Let’s read this one first, Daddy!”

“Nice, there are lots of pictures,” Samantha added. 

“Uncle Squall is going to read that to you. After dinner.” Seifer shuddered. “ _Way_ after dinner.”

There were crayon pictures and already stale and crumbling Yule cookies wrapped in colored cellophane. “We saved those for your dad, so he’d have something, because Dads never get much loot,” Morgan explained. 

“I got lots of neat stuff,” Seifer protested. “Dads don’t need much.”

“They are from my Yule party at school, we had lots.” Samantha added. 

“Thank you, I know he’d appreciate it. He sent you something, too.” Telling myself it could not possibly be a live pet and anyway Seifer was too weak to kill me, I handed over the gifts from Laguna. They turned out to be gingerbread houses, a new fad in Esthar City, and something the girls had never seen before. They were enchanted. 

I received drawings - one of a motorcycle and one of a blue lady with a cut out snowflake for a skirt. There was also a coffee cup with the ledgend 'Rugby Rules!', some of the excellent coffee blend Seifer stocked, and a sweat shirt depicting a snowman in traditional hat and scarf saying “Why am I wearing all this? I’m never cold.” They even included a catnip mouse for my cat.

Seifer told me how to make Worlds Famous garlic bread, and once the lasagna was ready managed to eat about a tablespoon of it. He did better with the ice cream.

We turned the couch back around and I built up the fire, ignoring Seifer’s sleepy critique. The now largely barren tree still held its lights, and when the sun went down we turned them on again, but none of the other house lights. I put on an animated version of an old story about endless winter finally being defeated. Samantha crawled up on the couch with her father and fell asleep. Morgan sprawled on her stomach by the fire, creating New Year’s placemats. 

I tried to stay awake and counted the minutes until bedtime. 

“Hey,” Seifer said softly. 

I thought he was asleep. I signed ‘ _need supplies?_ ’ in case he was feeling ill and didn’t want to alarm his daughters. 

He shook his head, smiling at me. “Happy Yule.”

It was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays, everyone. There is more to come, honest.


	26. It's All Fun and Games Until It Isn't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had Ellone on my arm and had seen enough press releases to know we made an attractive pair. She had a habit of whispering terrible puns and jokes to me in the hopes of making me laugh. Her success rate was not high, and thanks to the Almasys, I had her beat at elephant jokes.

We shined Squall on his way two days after Yule. The cookies from the girls to his pop wouldn’t last much longer. 

I was up and around, and pissed about the vaccine letting me down, at least until Squall confessed he’d called Kadowaki. Nothing like having your _pediatrician_ confirm a diagnosis. I felt like one of those heroines in the romance novels Rai used to read - running back to dear old Nurse.

Kadowaki’s explanation made sense; Hyne knows how much magic we all pumped into each other over the war. Plus Rin’s life magic was always a bit hinky, and technically Ulti’s magic doesn’t even exist yet so there’s that paradox, too. 

I scheduled the normal series of inoculations for Sami and me for later in the month. We had a discussion about how shots might not be fun but being sick was absolutely no fun at all. I promised we would share stickers and suckers and she agreed to go and be brave. I hoped I didn’t get stuck with a green lollipop again, those taste like ass. 

Squall was a champ but he’s not really cut out for nursing and his temper and patience were wearing thin. By day two he was involuntarily reaching for his gunblade. Didn’t help that the girls were taking full advantage of the poor guy, demanding his constant attention, showing off, trying to help and generally being pains in the ass. Or maybe that was me. 

Once I was upright enough to do the parental admiring of placemat art, motorcycle racing, and Princess Pink grooming, Squall retreated to the kitchen. He had no faith in my ability to cook on a good day and seemed convinced the girls would be living on PBJs and milk. Like there isn’t plenty of protein and calcium and stuff in that. Hell, the jam even had vitamins.

Squall stocked the fridge and freezer with what looked like a month’s worth of bake and serve casseroles and baggies of things to dump in a crock pot and dish out 6-8 hours later. Then we loaded him up with gifts and spare Yule candy and sent him down the road to his dad for New Year’s.

New Year’s was the other half of the holiday. Logically, it started with the solstice but the folk in charge of calendars don’t really like to have the official start of a new year wobble over a series of days like Yule does. Plus the additional week or so gives folk time to get rid of the Yule leftovers, clean up a bit, and decide what they hated most about the Old Year. 

At Garden, we stayed up until midnight, drank a toast of tepid sparkling lemonade or apple juice, and made wild predictions for the upcoming year. “This is the year a giant sea monster will come up and nap on the beach.” “This is the year Dincht will actually get laid.” Stupid stuff. 

Someone wrote them all down, Quistis usually, and we all scrounged up a gil to ante. Then next year, we voted on who had the most accurate, most outrageous predictions (You didn’t win for things like “It will rain on my birthday which is smack in the middle of rainy season” or “We will have fried seafood for dinner.”) and that person got the kitty. That’s how Squall afforded his expensive leathers, he won a lot. Now that I know about Time Kompression I feel I should cry foul, but it never helped any of the rest of us particularly so who knows?

Like everything else, New Year’s was more complicated in Esthar. 

There were two competing traditions: one, where you welcomed people to your home, blessed them, and gave them small edible gifts like cookies, candy, or left over fruit cake. Some places you went to other people’s homes, blessed them, and gave them cookies and stuff. 

The other tradition was a little more fun. Children dressed up in costume as something horrible and went to people’s homes and offered to scare away bad things for a small edible gift. Or they were the bad thing and folk gave them a treat to go away. 

Bottom line: “Happy new year, eat this.”

The locals combined them, because of course they did. Kids dressed as good fairies and set out with baskets filled with goodies to distribute while they blessed their friends’ and neighbors’ homes. Kids also dressed as bad fairies and toted empty baskets, gathering stuff while they ran off bad things or were run off themselves. 

Try and guess which of my kids wanted to do what.

Meanwhile, someone had to stay home and accept cookies and blessings and hand out cookies to the bad fairies for services rendered. You tended to end up with same amount of stuff you started out with, which ruined my theory that the whole gig was invented to get rid of surplus fruit cake. 

Merchants were quick to pick up on this and offered New Year’s baskets and boxes, which were filled with individually wrapped star shaped cookies, slices of fruitcake, gingerbread people, and for some reason, round hollow chocolates wrapped in foil to look like fruit. No one gave out real fruit, which would have been more welcome by this point in the celebrating. 

Jamie came through again, sending the girls’ costumes to my office. Lani dropped them off, along with the New Year’s basket I’d forgotten to have Squall buy. And a shitton of paperwork, but we won’t mention that during a holiday. She left, laughing at my spots.

Morgan’s costume was a set of black footie pajamas, black stretchy knit gloves with red felt claws sewn on, and a black hooded cloak lined with red felt and covered with plastic and rubber snakes, mice, and bugs, which were all tied on with red yarn. She loved it, and it looked warm enough to go out in, even if I was bit concerned about visibility. 

Sami got pink thermal long underwear and a pink flannel nightie with transparent, opalescent crinkly stuff that tied over to make a fairy-ish over skirt and wings. She also got a felt cap with feelers made of sparkly pipe cleaners. Sami was mostly over the spots and feeling fine and should be fairly comfortable going out in the costume. She put it on immediately and called her mother to sing its praises.

I was probably well enough to escort them and, according to Kadowaki, no longer contagious, but… I was covered in spots. I was saved again, this time not by Squall, but by my babysitter, who turned up in the nick of time. 

“We had a big fight over bridesmaid dresses,” Cordelia confessed. “I have to get away from those brats for a while or so help me Hyne, Clayton and I are going to elope. So I thought I’d take Boss and Lady Bug around to do the blessings since you’ve been sick.”

Sami gave her the hairy eyeball. “Are you well enough? Can you breathe?  
Cordelia laughed. “That was embarrassing, so sorry about that Mr Almasy.” She turned to Sami and beeped her nose. “I got better faster than you did, Lady Bug.”

“No worries. It would be great if you could take the girls around, Cori, thanks. That way I can stay here and try to hand out New Year’s treats faster than they collect them.”

“Dress warm if you are going to be manning the door, Daddy,” Morgan ordered. 

“Yes, Boss.”

Sami handed the laden basket to Cordelia. “Did you pick a pretty color? Why don’t they like the dresses? Does it matter? No one looks at bridesmaids, just the bride. They can wear jammies as long as you look nice.”

“I’d like them to treat it like a special occasion. I’m only getting married once.”

“Why? Daddy did it lots of times.” Sami waved farewell to me and skipped off. 

Yeah. Moving on. 

I dutifully put on a heavy sweater, dimmed the lights to make the spots less noticeable, and collected a depressing amount of fruitcake. What the hell do you do with fruitcake? When we were kids, Ma Dincht’s special recipe had so much booze in it the cake had to be kept away from open flames. Naturally we gagged it down for just that reason. Even then I wasn’t fond of it, and I picked out the weird green chunks at least. What are those things? Nothing normal is that color and texture.

The girls returned with baskets so full Cori had to carry them. 

“What the heck? This is a break even deal, how did you come back with more than you left with?”

Cori laughed while the girls inspected their haul and the goods I’d received at the door. “It was until Sami started telling everyone you were home sick with the pepperpox.”

I face palmed. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

“Got lots of cookies?” Morgan frowned. “And way too much fruitcake.”

“Well, Daddy, it’s true.”

“I’m not sick, Lady Bug.”

“You still have spots and you are working from home,” Morgan pointed out. 

“She’s right,” Cori said. “Do you need me to stay awhile, Mr Almasy? I had the shot.”

“No, thanks.” I sighed. “I had the shot, too, way back when, but I guess the early versions needed boosters or something which I didn’t get.” No point in being overly honest. “I’m working from home because these monsters are out of school and nine tenths of my clients and vendors are closed this week anyway.” 

“And he’s covered with spots,” my entirely too perceptive youngest put in. 

Cori was barely out the door when the doorbell rang. Sami, still in her good fairy outfit, ran to dispense cookies, but Doc Rosewalk wasn’t there for blessings. 

“Berry heard you were sick at the holiday and sent over a little something.” Doc hefted a picnic basket that would hold enough food for half of Garden. 

“Oh, hey, you didn’t have to do that, thank you. I’m nearly recovered and Sami is doing fine.”

“After the way you and your friend helped us out? It’s the least we could do.” 

I toted the basket to the kitchen and unpacked a casserole, homemade biscuits, half a pecan pie and, unfortunately, an entire fruit cake. I made a list so we could make sure Berry Rosewalk got her dishes back, along with a thank you note. The doorbell rang again. 

By the end of the day there was absolutely no room left in the ‘fridge or freezer. We had pies, bread, a fancy cheese and sausage pack, nuts, fruit, and a lot of fruitcake filling the counters. It felt like everyone in town sent over something. 

Sami and Morgan looked slightly shell shocked. We all shivered with the doorbell rang again. 

“You created a monster,” I told Sami as she ran for the door. 

Morgan paused in her inspection of the loot to call after her, “And it’s made of fruitcake!”

 

 

 

My father craved family gatherings and I felt could not miss both Yule and the Official New Year’s Day/President's Birthday celebrations. Seifer recovered faster than Samantha had, or was possibly more skilled at faking good health. He was up and around enough to be his typical annoying self, so I felt secure in traveling to Esthar City. After I made preparations to ensure the Almasy’s would not be living on crackers and candy until my return. 

Samantha assured me that, with the help of the kit I’d given her for Yule, she could take over cooking for the family. I was confident that she could handle dumping the contents of a bag into the crock pot at least. I held a brief safety meeting with both girls to prevent accidents. Morgan agreed to supervise and created a checklist which we posted on the refrigerator. 

The advantage of traveling several days late was that the traffic lightened up considerably. Also, the radio no longer dribbled holiday tunes ad nauseam. 

We had “Yule” the evening of my arrival. They had held off exchanging gifts until I could be there, which was unnecessary but flattering. 

“I’m surprised Laguna didn’t cave,” I said, spotting the Yule tree with the wrapped gifts still clustered beneath it. 

“Me too,” Kiros said. “There was some shaking of boxes and speculation and wondering if we should just open one…”

Ward signed ‘and that was Kiros and Ellie. Your father stood firm.’

“I inherited my stubbornness from Laguna? I thought I got it from you.”

Kiros sighed. “No, that was just resignation.”

I thought it would be more awkward than usual, going through the arbitrary motions celebrating a celestial event that wasn’t even occurring, but it was fun. Yule at the Palace lacked the chaos of Yule at the Almasy’s, but made up for it with more sleep. The formal dinner had been held on schedule, so for our private, ‘late’ Yule we were able to dress comfortably and eat in less than four hours. We all felt it was an improvement. 

Predictably, Laguna loved the drawings, the stale and nearly inedible cookies, and the cheap aftershave. It had a pleasant, quickly dissipating fragrance, possibly due to the cheaper bonding agent. Turned out that neither the packaging nor the bottle were green; it was the liquid itself. 

In order to reign in Laguna’s tendency to over the top gift giving, we had set strict rules. The gift had to be silly, consumable, or very useful and under a set price range. I’m not sure which category the set of flannel pajamas decorated with moombas I received fell into. There was a matching robe with a moomba embroidered where a monogram was typically placed, and slippers that looked like paws. I also received some fine, aged Galbadian whiskey, some excellent chocolates, and a plastic chocobo that ‘warked’ and flapped its wings when set in sunlight. 

New Year’s was the next hurdle. It started the evening before, with a gala which consisted of a formal ball, some live entertainment, a charity auction, and open bar and buffet. It lasted into the small hours. Sometime before noon on New Year’s Day we would all find our way into the Palace public dining room and devour Laguna’s New Year’s Feast, affectionately known as the Hangover Brunch. One had to be dazzling at the ball - the ladies, particularly, would have their attire examined, discussed, and emulated. Or immolated, depending on prevailing fashion dictum. At the brunch, it was acceptable, even encouraged, to be disheveled and sloppy. If a person appeared too “put together” he was either hiding something or hadn’t enjoyed the night before. As if anyone actually enjoyed formal balls. 

My valet, Henri, had a new formal suit prepared and in return I listened politely to the joys of Yule with newborn twins. Laguna had reinforced my idea that a gift was appropriate, and while I knew Ellone would be delighted to purchase baby things, I felt my gift should be directed more to the grandfather I knew than the babies I did not. Zell, ever practical, suggested extra memory for the man’s camera or phone or one of those electronic photo disc-players. I went with the latter and Henri was delighted. 

I also discovered, while I dressed, that the twins were girls, identical, and that I’d thoughtfully sent an enormous bouquet and fruit basket to the new mother. Now I definitely owed Ellone a shopping spree. 

I met Morgan’s mother in the salon where the family gathered before making our grand entrance to the gala. She was gracefully reclined on a chaise lounge, managing to look perfectly at ease despite what appeared to be an uncomfortably tight bejeweled bodice and excess drapes of skirt. Solange was a very petite, golden blonde and she reminded me of Zell. I had a brief, depressing, rumination that Seifer had always quibbled with him; perhaps he had a type. 

Also: _why was my father still dating her?_ If he were serious things could get very awkward. 

“Solange,” Laguna said, “allow me to present my son, Squall Leonhart. I believe he’s met someone you know.”

“Indeed?” She flowed up from the chaise and offered her hand. “Who would that be?”

I bowed over it politely. “I am a teacher and coach for elementary school children. Your daughter Morgan was on my rugby team.” I wondered if Solange would resent the reminder she had a child. Or if rugby was too unrefined for a classically trained dancer’s daughter. 

“Did she acquit herself well?”

“Morgan was one of my star players.”

“Excellent.” Solange tipped her head, giving me a sly look. Her eyes were as green as a cat’s. “You must have met her charming father then.”

Stiffly, I said, “Seifer and I have met, yes.” 

Laguna managed to turn a snort into a sneeze. I didn’t dare look at Kiros or Ward. 

Solange smiled, a far-away look in her eye. “A delightfully wicked man.”

She might have said more, but Ellone entered in a rush, apologizing for being late, and rescued us both from the conversation. 

 

 

We went down stairs in reverse order so the paparazzi could spend more time on Laguna and Solange. I had Ellone on my arm and had seen enough press releases to know we made an attractive pair. She had a habit of whispering terrible puns and jokes to me in the hopes of making me laugh. Her success rate was not high, and thanks to the Almasys, I had her beat at elephant jokes. 

Laguna seemed to have recovered from his first leg cramping awe of Solange, for they followed us gracefully down the marble steps. 

We endured the reception line and formal presentations and then the ball was officially opened with traditional waltz. Elle and I danced together before breaking up to ‘work the crowd’, my least favorite part of all official public social obligations. Ellone was immediately beset by bright young things and old stuffed shirts requesting dances. I began my typical tour, partnering those who were overlooked or underappreciated. 

I overtook Ellone, who had paused on the way to the dance floor to chat with the daughter of one of our senators. The girl had been in an automobile accident which left her unable to stand or walk unassisted - she was in a wheelchair at the time- and what I caught of the conversation, she was not responding well to therapy. Ellone immediately sat beside her and steered the conversation to less depressing subjects, including their shared charity work and some minor character assassination. The young man who had been scheduled for the next dance hovered uncertainly behind Elle. 

Sis glanced up at me. “Squall! You know Gwyntha. This is Davis, he’s from Galbadia. Dance with him, thanks.”

I bowed to Gwyntha and blinked at Davis, who smiled. Like many Galbadians, Irvine and my father included, he had an easy, graceful charm and warm smile. 

“I do feel I’m owed a dance from _someone_ in the family,” he said. 

“I shall endeavor not to disappoint.”

I let him lead and we chatted casually. Davis was a junior member of the embassy but from one of the old Galbadian aristocratic families. He was darkly handsome, well educated, witty, and like me was at the gala from social obligation with no hope of enjoyment. 

“But that just changed.”

“Surely one dance can’t change everything,” I said, playing devil’s advocate. 

“It can if it’s with the right person.” I gave him the raised eyebrow look and Davis laughed. “All right, that was cheesy, but how many people can say they got to talk to the mysterious Prince.”

I glanced at the couples crowding the floor. “Over 80% of the people in this room.”

“But how many can say they got to dance with him? And lead?”

“That is a smaller number,” I admitted.

Davis was easy to talk to, keeping the conversation light without becoming entirely trivial. He was on the rowing team in college, played polo, and had recently gotten into rugby.

I realized as I chatted with Davis that Seifer and I never really did the typical guy thing of bonding over sports. We tried once but it didn’t work, mainly because Seifer simply could not see the attraction in professional team sports. 

“At the end of the day, it’s just a game,” Seifer had explained. “I can see it takes some skill and they play it well enough to get someone to pay them to do it, but… they play a game for a living.” 

“You feel it has no value? It’s entertainment.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, if something can pass the lonely hours or make a person laugh, I’m all for it. It’s just...” He gestured to the television. “The ending changes and so do the names, but the plot’s always the same and there isn’t any character development.” Seifer shrugged. “I can’t get into it.”

Davis was not only passionate about the game, he was also hilarious when re-enacting memorable tackles and errors. We separated to dance promised sets but I found him sitting beside me during the entertainment portion of the gala. A year ago, I would have already been making plans to sneak out of the party with Davis and go back to his chambers or mine. 

I bumped into Davis again at the buffet. A naturally suspicious person, I wondered if Davis was deliberately stalking me, but on reflection I put it to the simple fact that we were of an age and shared interests. He certainly kept our interactions casual and undemanding.

“A nice man,” a voice said behind me. I turned from where I’d been idly watching Davis assist an elderly woman who was having difficulty managing her plate, drink, and cane.

Solange smiled knowingly at me. “But perhaps nice is not what you seek.”

My expression must have changed because she shrugged. “Me, I like the novelty of it. I shall dance with him next. After you.” Solange held out her hand imperiously. 

Why am I always forced to dance with Seifer’s exes?

 

 

We survived the charity auction. 

The local grade schools sent the first place winners from their art shows and a local shop donated professional matting and framing. Laguna purchased the entire set. “They can hang in the waiting room outside my office, vast improvement over photographs of stuffy old politicians.”

Ellone scored a box of handmade gourmet chocolates. “These cost more than my gown and I don’t care. And I’m not sharing so don’t ask.”

Davis and I bid against each other for a set of Storm of SeeD vids, signed by actor who played Storm. I realized suddenly I was about to spend a ludicrous amount of gil on Morgan and would at the very least have to find something comparable for Samantha. I let Davis win. 

He actually danced in place. “I love this show. I would marry that man and have his babies.”

Amused, I asked, “The character or the actor?”

“Oh the actor, definitely. Fictional people make terrible fathers.”

“If only he could hold a gunblade properly.” I led the way to the bar. 

Drinks in hand, Davis and I found a quiet, slightly out of the way space to hold up the wall and watch the dancers. Solange, in the spirit of cultural exchange, had talked the orchestra into playing a Galbadian country dance and was attempting to teach it to several laughing volunteers. Finally Solange and Ellone picked up their skirts and danced with each other, the only two present who felt confident enough in the steps to try it. When my father joined in the others found their courage and followed along as best they could. I could see a new fad in the offing. 

“Shouldn’t you be supporting your countrymen?”

Davis glanced at me. “Shouldn’t you? I know that dance and I’m not trying it in tight britches and slick dress boots.”

“Sound advice.” We clinked glasses.

The music paused and the dancers faltered to a stop. Above the ballroom, the great domed ceiling slowly turned from opaque to transparent. All around us, people smiled and raised their glasses. 

At exactly midnight, the first of the fireworks went off, lighting the sky over the Palace. Many cheered, others clinked glasses and offered toasts and good wishes. The orchestra started up again, jaunty and loud. 

I turned to Davis to wish him a happy new year and he kissed me. 

He was a good kisser, and it had been a long time. Davis was solid and warm beside me, friendly and comfortable and tasting of fine whiskey and smelling of expensive cologne. 

He drew back, concerned. “I’m so sorry, I guess I read the signals wrong.” Davis offered a sheepish smile of apology. “It’s a Galbadian thing, first kiss of the new year.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of it. I’m sorry.” It was warm in the ballroom and the fireworks sounded too much like artillery. I brushed past him and out through one of the side doors to a private sitting room. I sat on the leather couch and wondered at my own confusion and lack of response. 

My phone rang. Smiling, I answered, “Happy new year.”

“Same to you,” Seifer said. “So… how do you feel about fruitcake?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and without much substance, but at least New Year's is out of the way at last. 
> 
> Full steam ahead to the plot!


End file.
